


because guys like us are cool in college

by astralscrivener



Series: modern au: squad up universe [22]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, I told myself i wouldn't, M/M, because i'm a weakling, but I did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 23:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 84
Words: 83,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15959756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: a series of snippets following lance and keith's misadventures during their freshman year of college.Keith comes back to their dorm drenched.





	1. rain, rain, go away

**Author's Note:**

> "eileen don't you dare start a new snippet fic" challenge failed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rainy days on campus + shitty umbrella + not memorizing the bus schedule = soaked Keith.

                Keith comes back to their dorm drenched.

                The rain began yesterday, and hasn’t let up since. His umbrella’s soaked through, impossible to dry out in the small gaps he has between classes. It’s not like there’s much space in a lecture hall for some three hundred students to set out their rain gear to dry, either. By the time Keith’s in the door, he’s already kicked his boots to his bed and has his wet jacket shucked off.

                Lance looks up from the textbook he’s bent over, eyes blowing wide as he takes in the sight of Keith, shaking and shivering and sniffling from the sudden cold snap that’s overtaken what had been summer weather just two days ago.

                “Jeez, what _happened_ to you?” Lance asks in disbelief, reaching out and taking Keith’s jacket, hanging it up in a portion of their second closet, where shirts and pants and over jackets have been shoved aside to make a drying space.

                “Someone pissed off Mother Nature,” Keith mutters in a voice still recovering from a cold he contracted a week ago, striking for a second time with the abrupt change in weather.

                Lance shakes his head and turns away, rifling through the closet. He tosses a dry shirt and pants in Keith’s direction with an order to strip his sopping clothes and get into something warm, and Keith obeys without question. The ends of his mouth turn up slightly when he realizes Lance has thrown his own clothes at Keith—although the lines between who owns what get blurrier by the day.

                It’s a simple pair of pajama pants, now that Keith’s come back from his post-dinner lecture, all the way across campus in one of the arts buildings, and an oversized t-shirt. But he’s still cold, and he raises tired eyes to Lance. Without a word, Lance nods, shuts his textbook, and climbs into his bed. Keith swipes a sweatshirt dangling from a bedpost as he follows, and shrugs it on. It’s Lance’s gray Arus sweatshirt, still fuzzy and still smelling of the fabric softener Lance’s mom uses—he hasn’t worn it often enough to warrant another wash yet.

                “C’mere,” Lance murmurs, and Keith climbs onto the bed next to him.

                The beds are small, small enough that sleeping together is something of a feat—there are nights when Keith is worried one of them is going to accidentally roll over and hit the floor, but they never do. They always hold fast to each other, and neither finds themselves waking up on the ground with a concussion.

                Lance lies back on his pillow, and opens up his arms to Keith. Keith settles his head in the crook of Lance’s neck, and Lance wraps his arms securely around him.

                Luckily, neither of them have an 8 AM class tomorrow. Their Tuesdays and Thursdays are arguably their easiest days, with their first class just after noon. They can fall asleep now and still have plenty of time to wake up in the morning to get ready for the day, and Keith takes comfort in that, because right now, he doesn’t feel like showering. Right now, he doesn’t feel like doing homework. Right now, there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be, than right here with his fiancé.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't gonna update super frequently i'm just really weak and literally cannot survive without domestic kl fluff


	2. because two in the morning is always a reasonable time to cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith wakes up to the sound of someone sniffling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOYS FROM FLOOR THREE STOP SCREAMING AND SLAMMING DOORS DURING QUIET HOURS CHALLENGE

                Keith wakes in the middle of the night to light sniffling.

                It’s not himself, not the involuntary sniffling of the cold that won’t release its grip on him. It’s not cold-sniffling at _all._ Keith shifts in bed, and slowly realizes that he’s the only person in it, and that certainly wasn’t the case when he fell asleep. He squints in the dark, and fumbles for the desk lamp next to the bed, fingers missing the switch the first four times until finally it blinks on, and fills the room with pale yellow light.

                Lance whips around from where he stands near the door, hunched over in the corner. His eyes widen, like a deer in headlights, and Keith still squints at him, at the blur he knows to be his fiancé.

                “Lance?” he asks quietly, and glances down at the alarm clock. 2:33 AM.

                “S-Sorry,” Lance mutters. “Did I wake you?”

                Keith frowns. “Only a little bit.”

                Lance returns his frown, drags a hand through his hair, discards the crumpled tissue in his other hand. He paces the short length of the room, and when he gets close enough, just before spinning back around, Keith makes out the tear tracks on his face.

                “Lance? Are you crying?”

                Keith rises from his bed, and Lance turns back to him, hands shooting out, palms forward.

                “Nononono, don’t get up. I-I’m fine, Keith. I just need a minute.”

                “You’re not fine,” Keith says, and rises anyway.

                Lance stops pacing as Keith makes his way over, and halts in front of him. Lance drops his head while Keith takes him by the wrists, loose, gentle. He rubs circles on the back of Lance’s wrist, and then slowly trails his hands down, until they’re palm-to-palm, and laces their fingers together.

                “Talk to me, Starboy,” Keith whispers.

                He waits patiently. Lance takes his time, raising his chin back up, meeting Keith’s eyes. Then his face flushes, and he drops his gaze back to the floor.

                “It’s...not really that serious.”

                “You’re crying at two in the morning. _Something’s_ bothering you.”

                “No, I mean—”

                “Lance…”

                Lance sighs, and releases one of Keith’s hands to scrub at his face again. Keith pays careful attention to Lance’s slow actions, to the sharp rise and fall of his chest, to the burn on his face and the tips of his ears.

                “It was you,” Lance confesses.

                Keith blinks. “Me?”

                Lance nods and swallows past some lump in his throat. Lets go of Keith’s other hand. Brings him in for a crushing hug that takes Keith by surprise, and for a moment, all he can do is stand in Lance’s embrace, stunned, while Lance runs fingers through his hair.

                “You’re just...you’re fucking perfect, you know that?” Lance whispers, and already, his voice catches. “You’re smart, and you’re gorgeous, and you just... _God_ , just _you,_ Keith. I-I don’t...I still think every day about how lucky I am to...to have you, a-and sometimes I just…I’m _me,_ I don’t—”

                “Hey,” Keith interrupts, mumbling his words into Lance’s shoulder as he finally brings his arms around him. He rubs Lance’s back. “Don’t talk like that. Do you know how often I wonder how the hell you ever chose me back? _You’re_ the perfect one. You’re selfless. And funny. And beautiful. You make everything better.”

                “Now I’m gonna cry harder.”

                Keith can hardly hear Lance that time, because Lance can’t speak without his voice shattering. So Keith does the talking for him.

                “I love you,” Keith says. “I chose you. And I’ll choose you over and over again. Every single time.”

                “You too,” Lance manages.

                Keith smiles into Lance’s neck, squeezes him tighter, and Lance returns the squeeze in earnest. And for a moment it’s just the two of them, standing in the center of the room, holding each other. They don’t move until a light breeze pushes through the window, and Lance, in shorts and a t-shirt, shivers.

                “Alright,” Keith whispers, “c’mon. Let’s get back in bed, you sap.” He shakes his head when they pull apart, and adds, more quietly, “Crying at two in the morning because you’re soft. Can’t believe…”

                But he can believe it. And adores it. His chest aches, as he and Lance climb back under the covers in a tangle of limbs, in a subtle competition to see who can cuddle the other more. His heart’s full to bursting with love for Lance, and he tucks his face against Lance’s shoulder so Lance doesn’t see him start to cry, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EILEEN GO TO BED YOU HAVE AN 8 AM CHALLENGE


	3. so no kiss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith's good at finding quiet places on campus. lance is good at finding keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all i can think abt is that fuckign vine

                Part of “Keith culture,” as Lance calls it, is tracking down some of the most remote places in the area and claiming them for his own. If there exists a quiet nook somewhere, chances are, Keith’s already found it and claimed it for his own. Spots to hide out between classes are no exception, and by the time the third week of classes rolls around, Keith has taken over a corner in one of the engineering buildings.

                Benches line the wall of windows, and the space Keith sits in now rests against a mulch bed thick with bushes growing outside. From here, he watches rainwater splash over leaves, tracks drops as they race down the glass. He’s content to drift away here, because he’s got an hour to kill before his next class, and the classroom’s just down the hall.

                He’s so caught up in watching the rain, nodding off, that he doesn’t even notice the figure coming up to his side until warm arms wind around his neck, and a chin settles on top of his head. He peers up as best he can, smiling through the hair falling in his eyes.

                “Hey,” he greets.

                “Hey,” Lance responds, and Keith scoots away from the divider he’s been leaning against, giving Lance the room to squeeze in behind him and give him a tighter hug. “Fancy seeing you here.”

                “Why’re you here?” Keith asks.

                His schedule and Lance’s don’t totally overlap. Right now, Lance should be booking it to his next class, a good ten minute walk across campus. Why he’s in this building is a mystery to Keith, unless…

                “Cutting through,” Lance answers, confirming Keith’s train of thought. “It’s like our umbrellas are cursed. Mine broke like, two seconds after I walked out of the dorm. I’ve been trying to figure out the quickest way to class, and what do you know? I’ve got a minute to spare.”

                “So you’ve got a minute for this?”

                Keith wiggles his way out from underneath Lance’s chin and twists until they’re facing each other. Lance laughs softly and allows Keith the room to readjust, and leans forward as Keith takes his face in his hands.

                “You’re cute, y’know that?” Lance mutters, when their lips are practically touching, and the smile that splits Keith’s face ruins it. He ends up with his forehead against Lance’s.

                “You ruined it,” Keith mutters back, and shuts his eyes.

                “Aw, nooo, Keith, c’mon,” Lance pretends to whine. “Baaaaabe. _Baaaaaaaaaaaabe._ ”

                Keith smiles wider at the sound. “You’re running out of time to get to class, you know.”

                Lance pouts as Keith pulls back, just to gauge his reaction, take in his expression. This time, Keith laughs.

                “So no kiss?” Lance asks.

                He’s endearing enough to send an arrow of affection spearing through Keith’s heart, sweet enough to create a cavity. Keith shakes his head and leans in again, and melts against Lance. He’s a furnace compared to the air conditioning in the building, and the chilly wind outside.

                Lance hums against Keith’s mouth and tightens the arms he has around Keith’s neck, drawing him in closer, close enough that Keith’s practically got him pinned against the divider. They don’t pull away until someone audibly gags down the hall, and Lance lifts his head with a squint.

                “Who is it?” Keith whispers, and Lance shakes his head.

                “Some rando.”

                Like he’s got some point to prove, Lance brings Keith back in, and Keith follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "this won't update that frequently" i say as i upload for the second day in a row
> 
> also i'm in the student union and they're playing friday i'm having war flashbacks to fifth and sixth grade


	4. friday night tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the squad hangs out in klance's dorm. it might be becoming a weekend tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do u ever just miss klance

                The group might be making a new tradition, Keith thinks, when he, Lance, Hunk, and Shay settle into Keith and Lance’s dorm for the night, the second Friday in a row. They’re all sitting on the floor, smushed together on a pile of pillows and blankets. They’ve moved one of the night stands out from underneath Lance’s bed and placed it in the middle of the room, with just enough space to squeeze between the beds to get around it, and Shay’s laptop—the biggest laptop out of all of theirs, with a 17-inch screen—sits on top of it.

                The scent of popcorn wafts from the large bowl being passed between the four of them, while four drinks—two waters, one Gatorade, and one Coke—rest on another empty night stand that Keith’s cleared for the occasion.

                Keith leans back contentedly, and Lance scowls.

                “How am I supposed to braid your hair if you keep moving?”

                Lance’s legs lie to either side of Keith, while Keith effectively sits in his lap. It was Lance’s request, because he insisted on playing with Keith’s hair during their little video-watching party. Plus, it’s shower-fresh, perfect for Lance to mess around with to his heart’s content.

                “How are you supposed to watch a TV show if you’re too busy braiding my hair?” Keith asks back.

                Lance scoffs. “I’m perfectly capable of multitasking.”

                “What are we watching again?” Hunk asks from the floor, where he’s draped over Shay’s legs with his head in her lap.

                “Hopefully not another _clean vines you can show to your grandma_ compilation,” Shay replies, shooting a look at Lance.

                “ _Actually_ ,” Lance says, “not tonight. Last I checked, Netflix didn’t have a Vine option. We’re actually gonna watch some show Emely texted me about this morning. Clara and Javier just started watching it, but apparently it’s really good.”

                Hunk sighs. “Damn. So no Vines that really butter my croissant?”

                “And none for when you’re alone at three AM,” Keith agrees melodramatically, and leans further back, until the back of his head hits Lance’s shoulder, and Lance is forced to abandon his braid.

                “Okay, number one, if you all _really want_ , we can watch Vines next weekend, or even tomorrow—”

                “Absolutely not,” Shay interrupts, and Lance puts his hand up.

                “Okay. Number two, _no being alone at three in the morning allowed!_ ”

                “We all have roommates, technically none of us are ever alone at three in the morning,” Hunk says.

                Keith drapes an arm over his eyes and continues leaning back, enough that Lance himself has to recline, because he doesn’t feel like pushing back.

                “You ever heard of being alone in a crowded room?” he asks, and only lifts his arm momentarily to grin at the others.

                “Okay, edgelord,” Lance mutters, and kisses the top of Keith’s head. “None of that.”

                He reaches up for the wireless keyboard sitting on top of his bed and pulls it down. He wraps his arms around Keith’s waist as he sets the keyboard in Keith’s lap, and then reaches for the wireless mouse. They’re both hooked up to Shay’s computer through USB ports, allowing Lance easy access from back here.

                “So what are we actually watching?” Hunk asks.

                “Can’t remember the title,” Lance responds. “I think it was like, _The Wyvern Princess_ , or something? Dunno. All I know is it’s gonna fuel my need for a DnD group.”

                “He’s gonna end up writing another twenty pages of his Prince Lanceylance universe, and then he’s gonna make us sit here one night while he reads it to us, mark my words,” Keith says, and lets his arm drop back down.

                “Yep,” Lance says, as he clicks play on Netflix. “And you’re gonna love it.”

                “I don’t need more exposure to Klance, please, spare me,” Shay mutters.

                “No,” Lance replies sharply, and clears his throat, and inhales.

                Hunk reaches up and slaps a hand over Lance’s mouth before he can say anything, earning an indignant look from his best friend. Keith bursts into a fit of giggles, yet again lifting his arm up to see things, while Shay outright laughs.

                “This is betrayal,” Lance says, when Hunk removes his hand, and then shakes his head, as the screen flashes to life with the Netflix logo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cups hands around mouth] WATCH THE DRAGON PRINCE IF U WANT GOOD FAMILY DYNAMICS; DEAF, MUTE, AND ASL REP; ALREADY WE HAVE BACKGROUND LGBT COUPLES AND IT'S ONLY THE FIRST SEASON; FANTASTIC ANIMATION; AMAZING VOICE ACTING; A GOOD SHOW THAT MAKES U FEEL HAPPY AFTER U WATCH A SEASON LMAO


	5. mr. lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you and me. us against the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does depression ever just jump u in the back corner of an alley and demand u hand over ur emotions and even if u don't it takes them hostage anyway

                He doesn’t control it. It strikes when it wants, and when it does, it strikes hard. Makes its presence known, makes its dominion known. It stays for as long as it wants, no matter how much he pleads for it to leave him alone, and has no mercy during its visits.

                _Get it together._

                Saturday nights on campus are supposed to be for fun and hanging out with his friends and having a good time while he can, before the rush of the school week begins again on Monday, but instead, he sits in the dark. His back presses against the wall, while his arms tighten around the knees drawn to his chest. He scrubs the heel of his hand over his face, and draws in ragged breaths that tell him this attack won’t be leaving him any time soon.

                He’s not even sure what brought it on.

                _Homesick._ That must be it.

                Home is only a half-hour drive away, but he’s a freshman with no car and no desire to bother his mother or siblings or one of his older friends back in town to come get him, to bring him home for the weekends. He’s relegated to spending time around an emptier-than-usual campus, or in a quiet dorm that lacks the scent of something or other cooking downstairs, lacks the scent of a laundry machine at work, lacks the scent of his mom’s candles…

                Lance gasps again and grabs a pillow and buries his face at the same time the door creaks open. He can’t hide, he knows—no doubt, Keith’s already heard him sniffling.

                There’s a quiet swear as Keith reaches blindly into the dark room and fumbles for a lightswitch. When he finally finds it and flicks it on, he enters the room fully, quietly shuts the door behind him, and dumps his bag on his chair.

                He was out, doing something or other for one of his photography classes—scouting out cool spots on campus, maybe, Lance can’t remember the details, because all he remembers is, for once, the intense need to be _alone_ , something that rarely happens, almost _never_.

                The desire passed almost as soon as Keith left, but Lance didn’t want to trouble him any further.

                It’s too late for that now, though. Keith’s definitely troubled, or at least, appears to be, when Lance lowers the pillow a little bit, just to steal a glance at Keith’s face, and the eyes that shine with worry.

                Keith doesn’t even speak. He climbs onto the bed next to Lance and takes Lance into his arms, quickly but gently. Lance goes doll-limp; his legs straddle Keith, his head falls against Keith’s shoulder, and his arms stay pressed between their chests, while Keith’s arms encircle him around his back.

                Lance is almost jealous with how well Keith seems to be adjusting to college life, and then he hates himself for being jealous. Keith’s ability to adapt to any situation is something Lance loves about him, and something his heart aches for, because he knows the ability developed out of instability in his childhood, a skill sharpened by the need to survive.

                Keith can slide seamlessly into a new situation, make the best of things, _thrive_. It’s like he’s been in college forever, with the way he’s been on campus, and Lance almost lets a disbelieving laugh bubble out of his chest when he remembers how terrified Keith was of coming here, how terrified the prospect of getting to campus and not finding any place to fall in seemed.

                Neither of them saw this reversal coming.

                _Can you believe it?_

                _Keith_ was the one afraid of losing Lance, of losing Hunk and Shay, of losing anything and everything familiar to him. _Keith_ was the one afraid of change, change _again_ after far too many changes before, some good and many not so much.

                When Lance opens his mouth, it’s not a laugh that escapes his lips. It’s a sob, ugly and loud in their silent room.

                “Everything’s alright,” Keith says, voice low and soothing. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

                Lance hates it, hates that it’s taken just a few hours alone in their dorm, trying and failing to get any homework done, to unravel him like this. Hates himself and his feelings and the way pain cleaves through his chest and how his eyes sting and burn and how he still can’t breathe right.

                _You’ve always got me,_ Lance told Keith once, when the both of them thought Keith would be the one breaking down.

                _If worse comes to worst, you’re always going to have me,_ Keith told him just a few weeks later.

                Lance clings to it now more than ever, holds onto that thought and repeats it over and over again in his head like a prayer, holds onto _Keith_ as he shifts, and gets his arms around the small of Keith’s back and tightens his grip.

                “You and me,” Lance whispers, voice broken.

                “Us against the world,” Keith finishes, just as quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet y'all thought it would be keith breaking down didntcha
> 
> nOPE
> 
> and wrow 2 uploads in one day and neither of them were the next chapter of the fix-it fic i am Ashamed


	6. i thought they were just being nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so lance may have accidentally been letting the barista who works the night shift in the student union dunkin flirt with him.
> 
> for two straight weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise this chapter's not dramatic or angsty lance is just oblivious bc he's too in love with keith i promise

                Lance apparently can’t study in quiet places, or else his mind wanders. That’s how he ended up adopting the Student Union as his study room. At the moment, he sits at a table just outside of the Dunkin Donuts, staring at the sign next to the door. From the table he’s at, he can’t see the counter, or the guy working there.

                The guy who may or may not have been flirting with him for the last two weeks since he’s been coming here.

                He didn’t notice it, at first—free drink here, discount there, based solely on the fact that Lance is here nearly every night doing homework. Sometimes with Keith, sometimes not. And it’s almost always Lance ordering for them. He doesn’t think he’s ever set foot inside the Dunkin on the barista’s shift with Keith by his side.

                “Do you not notice you’re being flirted with?” Hunk pointed out one night, as the barista made a dumpster run and asked Lance if he’d be dropping by later, with a sly grin.

                “I’m not being flirted with,” Lance had responded, but there it was: the seed.

                Planted. Watered. Fed. Slowly but surely blooming into a flower of _oh my God I’ve been flirted with this whole time and did nothing to shut it down, I just thought they were being nice._

                But. Maybe he’s not. Maybe it’s just paranoia manifesting. There’s only one way to find out: test it out for himself with that mindset, and have a witness. And that’s how he finds himself rising from his chair when Keith enters the Student Union, with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

                “I thought you were a love expert,” Keith says by way of greeting when he reaches the three-seat square table, plopping his bag on the third chair, right up against Lance’s. “How do you not realize you’re being flirted with?”

                “To be fair, it’s kinda difficult to notice other people when you have the best person in the world as your fiancé,” Lance responds, and pulls Keith into a hug as soon as Keith’s arms are empty. Keith returns it in earnest, fighting off the chill from the building air conditioning.

                “Alright, you sappy little shit,” Keith says, and pecks him on the cheek before pulling away. “Let’s get this over with.”

                The plan is a simple one: Lance is going to order, all on his own. Keith’s going to order right after him, and observe their interaction like he’s just another random student looking for an early-night caffeine fix before an inevitable crash.

                Easy. Simple. Done.

                If he’s being flirted with, then he’ll figure out a strategy for tomorrow night, to gently let the barista know _hey, sorry, not gonna happen, kinda already have a whole fiancé, and also maybe I feel slightly guilty about all the discounted coffee I keep getting._

                Lance walks over to Dunkin first, and Keith waits for about a minute before queueing up in line behind him, as not to look like they’ve walked in as a pair. Keith leans against the wall, while Lance waits for the girl in front of him to get her coffee. It takes everything in Lance to restrain himself from glancing back when it’s his turn, like, _okay, this is the moment we find out._

                “Hello,” he greets cheerfully, the same way he’s greeted this barista literally every night, the same way he greets _any_ service worker, because he’s a nice person and he knows that the service industry can be deep-fried hell on a stick sometimes.

                “Hey,” the barista responds, casually, coolly, and Lance is starting to realize now that the tone he mistook for exhaustion—because honestly, who wouldn’t be tired working a shift this late?—is not, in fact, exhaustion. “What can I get for you?”

                And Lance orders, and the barista smiles and punches in a coupon code that reduces the price to just barely over a dollar.

                “Another one? Really?” Lance actually asks this time, and the barista shrugs, raising his eyes to meet Lance’s over the cash register.

                “Thought you could use it.”

                And then he disappears behind the coffee machines to make his coffee. While his back is turned, Lance shoots a glance over his shoulder, at Keith. Keith raises his eyebrows and spreads his palms in an irritatingly cute _we told you_ fashion, and then schools himself back into neutrality and resumes his position against the wall as the barista returns with Lance’s discounted coffee.

                “Here you go,” the barista says, flashing a bright smile in Lance’s direction as he hands over the coffee.

                “Thank you,” Lance responds, and adds a quiet _have a nice night_ as he walks out.

                And then pauses halfway through the door.

                There’s one way he can address this whole issue without ever actually having to bring it up. Instead of leaving, he hangs out by the counter with the napkins and straws, in plain view of the barista as he takes Keith’s order.

                Keith notices, and must realize what Lance is up to. He takes a moment, while the barista is ringing him up and preparing to make his coffee, to turn and smile at Lance, and Lance returns the smile about ten times brighter and waves.

                Specifically, waves with the hand on which he wears his engagement ring.

                He times it just right. The barista catches sight of him still hanging around, and then averts his eyes as he hands Keith’s coffee off. Keith bids him a polite _thank you, good night,_ and rejoins Lance, and finishes the job Lance has started by twining their fingers together as they walk out, and make the short stroll back to their table, where they slide into seats across from each other.

                “Was that a little too harsh, d’ya think?” Lance asks, leaning forward, and Keith leans in, too.

                “Nah,” Keith responds. “Looked totally normal. You’re a fantastic actor.”

                Suspiciously, playfully, Keith leans back in his seat, and sips his coffee as he narrows his eyes at Lance. “Maybe too good an actor. Maybe this is all just an act, too. I bet I’m being punked, and any moment now Ashton Kutcher is gonna pop out of here and declare it.”

                “Never,” Lance says, and reaches across the table that one of Keith’s hands still rests upon. Lance takes his hand between both of his and lifts it to his mouth, just to press a light kiss on the back of Keith’s knuckles. “This is the only thing in life I’m like, one hundred percent sure I’m not faking my way through.”

                Keith flushes, and sets his coffee down so he can use his other hand to bury his face.

                “Can’t notice when other people flirt with you, but when _you_ flirt...jeez fuckin’ louise…,” Keith mutters, and slumps over on the table.

                With Keith this close now, Lance can pet his hair without having to borderline rip his arm out of his socket. He runs fingers through the dark strands, and Keith groans when he realizes what Lance is doing, illicting giggles from him.

                “You’re the _wooooooorst_ ,” Keith whines.

                “I know,” Lance responds fondly, leaning on his respective end of the table so that his face is even closer to the top of Keith’s head, “but you love me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so anyway i think the barista at the student union dunkin has been flirting with me for two weeks and i might be the slightest bit Uncomfy but Oh Whale i got fic material from it so make of that what u will
> 
> also bls go read my fix-it fic, [stealing our own place in the sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441)  
> i'm essentially rewriting vld from s4 onward, each chapter is an "episode," so far we're on chapter 3 aka s4e3 bls i'm putting hard work into it and i  
> [slumps over on desk as caffeine high ends]


	7. counting stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith's sleeping habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brain: go shower  
> me: but klance  
> brain: it's midnight you have an 8 AM  
> me: but i don't need to shave my legs i have time  
> brain: fuck u  
> me: :P

                When Keith was little, he used to count stars.

                His dad may have grown up in the south, in farmland and then desert, but Keith never really took to counting sheep like he did. Clouds, sometimes. More often, he’d take solace in finding shapes in the clouds, _like constellations during the day...sorta,_ he’d told his father, very shortly before his passing.

                Nights got longer after that. Too many, he recalled sitting by the window, connecting the dots between celestial bodies, remembering everything he knew about space and the stories behind those silent, distant protectors.

                His protector now is a lot less silent and a lot less distant, and Keith lulls himself to sleep by connecting the dots on his face and shoulders, creating new constellations, writing new stories.

                Lance is out cold; not even the sensation of Keith tracing light fingers over his skin draws him from slumber. He snores softly, chest rising and falling against Keith’s, arms warm and steady and solid around Keith’s back. A guardian angel made human.

                “You have no idea,” Keith whispers, in a voice barely audible, so quiet he’s not even sure the words have made it beyond his brain, “how incredible you really are.”

                He has to be up early tomorrow, should be sleeping, should not be sitting here and staring at Lance’s face, committing every soft curve to memory _again_ and again and again, wondering how such perfection is allowed to exist in this world. But he is. He is, and he thinks about everything Lance has ever said, has ever covered up, about not being good enough.

                _Always good enough. More than enough. Absolutely perfect._

                Those thoughts take over Keith’s mind as he closes his eyes, his fingers lingering on Lance’s cheek, before he, too, wipes out, into blissful unconsciousness.

                He’s not aware he’s smiling in his sleep, or that it’s the first, heart-melting thing Lance sees when he wakes up in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm weak


	8. how long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance's lab gets cancelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my linguistics class got cancelled so naturally my roommate and i fucked around and explored campus instead of using the extra time to do homework
> 
> here is a snapshot of my brain the whole time when i wasn't at barnes & noble buying books bc i have no impulse control
> 
> brain: can u not do this  
> me: KLANCEKLANCEKLANCEKLANCEKLANCE  
> brain: pls be normal for two fucking minutes  
> me: this would be the perfect location to set another kl snippet  
> brain: DO NOT  
> me: i'm already mentally writing it
> 
> anyway
> 
> enjoy

                One of Lance’s least favorite parts of college is coordinating his afternoon downtime, because there are some days his schedule and Keith’s schedule just don’t align that well.

                It’s not like they’re completely dependent on each other to function—Lance is perfectly capable of being his own human being and making friends, thank you—but he enjoys spending time with Keith. But different second majors have them separated during the tail end of the day, and sometimes they’re lucky if they can make it to the dining hall together.

                So Lance, naturally, is ecstatic at the email he gets during lunch, and promptly bursts out of the dining hall and books it all the way back to his dorm, practically breaking the door down and startling poor Keith, who sits on Lance’s bed with headphones in and his laptop out in front of him, already done with his classes for the day.

                “Where’s the fire?” Keith asks, as he removes his headphones and thanks every higher power that he didn’t just fling his laptop to the ground.

                “Nowhere. But get some shoes on, we’re leaving the building anyway,” Lance answers, tossing his backpack onto his chair and snatching up his drawstring. “My lab just got cancelled at the last minute, which means I’m free for the rest of the day.”

                He tosses a sunny smile over his shoulder, as Keith slowly closes his laptop and his feet hit the floor. He tugs on a pair of sneakers and grabs his own bag.

                “And why are we leaving the building?” Keith asks.

                “ _Because_ ,” Lance says, as if the answer’s obvious, “I’m bored, it’s super-duper nice out, and there are parts of campus I’ve literally never seen. Not on Accepted Students’ Day, not at orientation, and not even that day we mapped out our classes. I wanna go exploring.”

                It’s not really a request Keith can say no to, and he’s not inclined to do so, either. Not when Lance is bouncing on his feet like an excited puppy. Not when he’s giving him the most innocently-pleading look he can muster. And not when Keith’s secretly been desiring the same thing, and has just been waiting for the right time to bring it up.

                That’s how he finds himself in the shadow of a building approximately half an hour later, somewhere in the heart of campus. It must be one of the Biology buildings, according to the ant sculptures scaling the wall, and also the sign that says _Biology_ in huge letters, high above their heads.

                The space is secluded, mostly away from doors and windows, and Keith can really only see grass and the path leading back out to the rest of campus; everything else is obscured from his view. It’s the perfect place for him to take Lance by the face and kiss him without judgment.

                Lance makes a noise of surprise as Keith grabs his face, and his back hits the wall as he stumbles. The wall helps him get his balance, and then he’s got a tight grip on Keith’s hips as he draws him in closer.

                “How long have you been holding that one in?” Lance murmurs, giving Keith a space to break for air.

                Keith grins, face flushed, eyes bright. “For about the last twenty minutes.”

                For about the last twenty minutes, when the first sun rays finally broke through the clouds plaguing campus all morning and making Lance glow, giving him a halo at certain angles, just about giving Keith a heart attack on-spot.

                “You make me happy, you know?” Keith adds, and before Lance can respond beyond a soft _oh_ , Keith presses their mouths back together.

                Before, they kissed with fervor, constantly trying to pull each other closer, even when they’d reached the point where getting any closer was literally impossible. Now, though, they slow down, and one of Keith’s hands moves from Lance’s face to the back of his neck, his fingers running through the short, soft hair there. Lance’s arms snake all the way around Keith and clutch at his back, one sliding underneath Keith’s jacket, underneath his shirt, and the skin-to-skin contact sends electricity shooting up Keith’s spine.

                _So warm,_ is about the only thought Keith’s mind can produce.

                The weather’s been up and down; the end of last week brought back miserable heat and humidity, but the rain at the beginning of this week wiped it away, and today marks the beginning of a string of cooler days, cool enough for Keith to be comfortable in pants and a jacket, cool enough for the breezes that ruffle his hair to be welcoming, instead of another blast of absolute torture.

                It’s the perfect excuse to be as close to Lance as he can possibly get.

                “Happy, huh?” Lance whispers the second time they break, and he leans down enough to press their foreheads together.

                “Of course,” Keith replies.

                His eyes fall back on Lance’s freckles, mentally retracing the lines he’d been drawing last night with his fingers—misshapen hearts and suns, arrows, he thinks he might have even attempted a shark at one point, deep in the haze between sleep and wakefulness.

                “You’re the most important thing to me,” Keith goes on, and actively begins running over the freckle-constellations with his thumb. “You’re my person.”

                His person, soulmate, fiancé, clarity, stability. The sun whose orbit his planet is caught up in. The guardian angel watching out for him, always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o yeah this takes place like the day immediately following the last update
> 
> keith is going to take every moment he can to tell lance how much he loves him and also i am going to use way too much space and angel imagery thank u and good night


	9. hair care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance and keith talk about their hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean u read the summary what more do u want from me

                “So I’m debating whether or not to cut my hair.”

                Tonight isn’t particularly busy for Keith or Lance. They’re in the dorm, cozy in pajama pants and shirts that smell like each other. Keith sits on his bed with his legs crossed and head tipped back slightly, eyes shut. Lance sits directly behind him, hair tie held between his lips as his fingers twist Keith’s hair around.

                Lance pauses, eyebrows rising, and he holds the braid he’s got going—half of Keith’s hair in it, the rest of it left down, his bangs still hanging shower-damp in his face—with one hand, and uses the other to remove the hair tie.

                “Really?” he asks.

                Keith shrugs lightly. “I mean, like I said, _debating_.”

                “Huh,” Lance mutters.

                It’s not like it’s a total crime for Keith to cut his hair; Lance doesn’t think a pair of scissors has touched it since...maybe sometime during senior year. Maybe. If that. It’s really a miracle Keith’s hair isn’t longer than it is, just about shoulder-length, barely. Maybe he’s trimmed it a couple times, but…

                “Define cutting,” Lance says, and Keith shrugs a second time.

                “Dunno. Maybe just a couple inches. Maybe I’ll chop it all the way down. Definitely no buzz cut, though,” Keith answers.

                “I see,” Lance says. “Any particular reason, or is it just one of those things you feel like doing?”

                Third shrug. “Maybe I wanna change things up. Maybe I wanted input. I called Shiro earlier and mentioned it, and he laughed so hard that he accidentally hung up. Like, I get it, I’ve had the same haircut since I was a kid, but...I don’t know. I mean...we’re in college. Adults. New chance to shake things up.”

                Lance nods, although Keith can’t see it, and resumes tying a braid into Keith’s hair. “I mean, if you want input, I personally am a fan of the longer hair.”

                He pauses again, as Keith turns just enough to look him in the eyes. He puts his one free hand up defensively.

                “But hey, do what you want. I’m just saying.”

                Keith sighs, but it’s not tired or upset. It comes out closer to an amused exhale than anything, and a smile ghosts his lips as he turns back around and lets Lance continue working.

                “I have an idea,” Keith says, after some time, just as Lance finishes the braid with a snap of the hair tie as he gives it one last yank. Keith turns around to face Lance fully, bracing his arms on Lance’s knees as they lean in.

                “What?” Lance asks, like they’re swapping some big secret.

                “I cut my hair, but only enough to take off the dead ends,” Keith says, and Lance opens his mouth to respond, but Keith keeps going, “and _you_ stop straightening yours.”

                Lance stills. Keith waits patiently, doesn’t make any sudden movements. He gives Lance’s knees one squeeze to bring him back to reality, and Lance’s gaze when he finally snaps out of his stupor is confused, apprehensive. But not guarded. Never guarded. No need, when he’s with Keith.

                “How often have you seen my curls?” Lance whispers, and his voice is genuine. It’s such a rare occasion that he doesn’t remember the last time Keith’s seen them.

                “Recently,” Keith answers. “The humidity the other day started curling them. And then you forgot to straighten your hair after your shower and fell asleep. I woke up, and your curls were like, out in full force. You were even cuter than usual, and I don’t get why you don’t just let them stay curly.”

                Lance frowns and runs a hand through his hair.

                “When I was a kid, people had this weird fascination with them,” Lance said. “Not like you do. Like, people would just randomly come and touch it because I was _adorable_ or whatever, and like...I dunno. Little Lance liked the attention for a couple days, and then it got annoying. Once I learned how to use a straightener...no going back, y’know?”

                “I get it,” Keith said. “Just my own opinion. Curls suit you. Bouncy and carefree, just like you when you’re in a good mood.”

                That puts a smile on Lance’s face. He surges forward and wraps arms around Keith’s neck, pulling him into a fierce hug. Then he leans back, and Keith follows suit, until Lance’s back hits the mattress and Keith collapses on top of him.

                “You’re so cute,” Lance says, and kisses the tip of Keith’s nose. “Fine. You have a deal. You keep the hair longish, and I’ll let my hair get curly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good night i don't have an 8 AM but hitting the dining hall right when it opens at 7 AM is wonderful bc i get the seat i want and the place is empty so imma go


	10. jupiter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> make my messes matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm soft

                Friday night means weekend. Means parties. Means Late Night at the Student Union. Means students are out and about instead of holed up in the dorms. It’s only the end of their fourth week, and already, Keith, Lance, and the rest of the group break their tradition to go hang out at late night.

                Spontaneous—it was Keith’s decision. Introverted, quiet-loving Keith. Hopped up on caffeine. The group spent a good two hours or so meandering about the Student Union before Hunk and Shay called it a night, before Ryan and Nadia and Ina and even James caved in and decided they probably should’ve gotten going. It had to have been eleven.

                Eleven, and Keith’s caffeine high was finally wearing off, and he found himself on the sprawling lawn behind the Student Union, his back pressed against Lance’s, legs drawn up like a bridge over the grass, while Lance mimicked his pose, balancing his guitar in his lap.

                Lance’s jacket kept Keith warm against the oncoming chill of the breeze, against the chill of plunging temperatures as the night stretched on before them. It kept Keith warm when Lance strummed his guitar, fingers still dexterous, precise, even after long stretches of time not touching his favorite instrument at all.

                “You ready?” Lance murmurs, after a few minutes spent tuning, a few minutes long enough for onlookers to pause and realize that someone had a guitar out, for a small crowd to gather, many people trying to appear as though they _weren’t_ waiting for him to play.

                “Yeah,” Keith says, fighting the urge to ask Lance to put the guitar away so they can fall asleep together right then and there.

                The first notes of a Sleeping At Last song drift from the guitar. _Jupiter._ One near and dear to Keith’s heart. And eventually, Keith starts to sing. He’s quiet, at first, but Lance insists on playing louder, just to draw more attention to them, just to egg Keith on. _Let your voice die,_ he silently challenges, and Keith can picture him smiling, _or let these people hear you._

                So Keith lets the people hear him. His voice swells, louder and stronger as Lance plays on, until finally Keith sings the final words, Lance plays the last notes, and the two of them fall into silence. They lean back in tandem, heads falling backwards onto each others’ shoulders, in just the right position for them to turn and get a glimpse of each other.

                They should be taking this time to breathe—Lance, too, is panting, the result of playing with passion. But they don’t. Instead, as the crowd claps, before any one of them can get the idea to come up and ask for a phone number, perhaps with the intent of winning over the pretty guitar player or the singer with the killer voice, before anyone can mistake them for good friends, best friends, and nothing more, they kiss each other.

                The angle’s the slightest bit awkward, but they’re okay with it. They’re each warm, flushed, and they kiss slowly, deeply. As expected, some clapping dies out, but those who remain clap louder to compensate. Some people grumble and walk away. Others cheer. And Keith doesn’t care about a single one of them as he maneuvers a hand around and cups Lance’s cheek, as Lance leans further in.

                “I love you,” Lance breathes out when they pull apart, but they’re still so close that he practically speaks into Keith’s mouth.

                Again, they move in sync, readjusting until they’re each sitting up and leaning forward, leaning slightly off to the side, into each others’ spaces. Keith keeps his hand on Lance’s cheek as Lance presses their foreheads together, and strokes his thumb along Lance’s cheekbone.

                “I love you too,” Keith whispers.

                And they fall silent again. As the crowd disperses and students return to their activities, or head back to their dorms for the night, Lance and Keith remain in position, drinking in the other’s existence. When they finally do part, Lance slides his guitar back into his case, and then sets the case down on the grass next to him as he flops back, and Keith lays his head on Lance’s stomach.

                Lance’s hand finds its way to Keith’s head, to his hair, and Keith lets out a contented exhale that stretches the smile on Lance’s face, the fond smile that hasn’t disappeared in the last twenty or so minutes.

                “You know,” Lance says, after some time, when they’re the only students around, when he’s certain they’ve been there for far too long, and it’s probably quiet hours back in their dorm, and he’s certain neither of them intends on getting up any time soon, “your messes do matter.”

                Keith huffs out a little laugh, and Lance adds, “Or, y’know...I don’t exactly consider them messes. I know you do, and I know that’s what the song says...but you’re not as much of a mess as you think.”

                Lance’s other hand, so far, has been sitting uselessly in the grass, but now he lifts it, and nudge’s Keith’s until Keith gets the memo, and they clasp hands. Lance squeezes his hand and closes his eyes, the fingers of his other hand continuing to twist around strands of Keith’s hair.

                “Do you still feel like that sometimes?” Lance asks, when Keith doesn’t speak. “Like a mess? I mean...wow, didn’t word this right. Like, depression. Anxiety. I get it, I’m the same, but like...is it getting easier? Worse?”

                “Dunno,” Keith responds, after a moment of thought. His brow furrows, and his eyes track the constellations in the dark sky above. “Haven’t really noticed a change. Maybe easier? Now that classes have started? A lot of the pre-college anxiety’s been easing, I guess.”

                Lance hums, nods. “Good. And...what about the part about not knowing yourself?”

                Keith attempts a shrug, shoulders rubbing up against Lance’s ribs. “Honestly...I don’t know if any of us know our truest self. I don’t. You ask me to define Keith Kogane and I can probably give you a few items, but...people are complicated. I can tell you a million things that I’m not, though, so...guess that part of the song’s true.”

                “That was deep,” Lance says. “But y’know...I’ve got a pretty good idea of who you are.”

                Keith smiles, lets his head roll to the side so he can look at Lance, as Lance lifts his own head slightly, just so their gazes can meet.

                “Oh yeah?”

                “Yep.”

                “Tell me, then.”

                Lance’s smile deepens. “The love of my life.”

                Keith groans and rolls over in the other direction, wrenching his hand free of Lance’s so he can bury his face as he sits up. Lance bursts into laughter and throws his arms around Keith from behind, nuzzling his face into the side of Keith’s now-scrunched neck.

                “Stop acting like the mush is gonna kill you, you doof,” Lance says, before pressing a kiss against Keith’s neck. And then another. And another. Another, and then he’s trailing as best he can all the way up to the space behind Keith’s ear. Keith groans and tries to shrink further in on himself, but it’s no use with Lance holding him like this.

                “The mush _is_ gonna kill me,” Keith protests.

                “Fine, fine,” Lance says, and settles, propping his chin on Keith’s shoulder, while Keith relaxes back into his embrace.

                “We should get back to the dorm, you know,” Keith says, and Lance sighs.

                “You’re right.”

                They rise, slowly, assisting each other in standing up. Lance slings the strap of his guitar case over his shoulder, and when he’s ready, he takes Keith’s hand in his. They press against each other, shoulder-to-shoulder, arm-to-arm, as they start the ten-minute trek back to their dorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my roommate has experienced 1 AM eileen and didn't kick her ass wrow 
> 
> anyhoo it's now 3 AM i sleeb


	11. our relationship is ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why the frick frack diddily dack patty wack snick snack crack pack slack mack quarterback crackerjack biofeedback backtrack thumbtack sidetrack tic-tac is james sitting in keith's seat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey remember when i said this wouldn't update that frequently
> 
> remember when i said these would be snippets
> 
> [long sigh]

                It’s not every day Lance finds himself alone on campus, and _definitely_ not every day he finds himself alone on campus and running into _James freaking Griffin,_ but that’s exactly what happens that Saturday morning, where Keith insisted Lance run to the Student Union ahead of him, because Lance showered before bed, but Keith was too exhausted to do the same.

                James slides into the empty seat across from Lance, where Keith’s Dunkin Donuts order is waiting. He gently pushes it off to the side and leans forward on his elbows, patiently waiting for Lance to look up from his laptop, and the list of homework assignments he’s diligently typing up.

                Lance flicks his eyes up, and they widen in surprise when he realizes it’s not Keith. Then again, he should’ve noticed the moment James sat down without so much as a greeting, other than intense staring. Lance slowly lowers his laptop screen until it’s halfway to shut, and pulls one earbud out.

                “You’re not Keith,” he says, unsure how to approach James.

                He and Keith technically made up. Their groups are technically friendly now. But there’s still unease here. Especially considering Keith should be arriving soon, and James is in his seat.

                “Astute observation,” James says, “but I _am_ here to ask about him.”

                Lance furrows his brow. James Griffin? Asking about _Keith?_

                “What?” Lance asks. “Why?”

                Wouldn’t it just be easier to ask _Keith_ about Keith?

                “How long have you two been together, again?” James asks. “And like...how did it all happen? And why?”

                Lance blinks. Stares. His brain fails to compute James’ questions several times; all he musters up is a loud chorus of shrieking, and dial-up internet noises, bass-boosted. James doesn’t press, doesn’t demand Lance answer, doesn’t ask what the hell his brain is doing. He waits, while a series of confused noises emerges from Lance’s mouth until he finally snaps out of it and narrows his eyes just the slightest.

                “Why are you asking about me and Keith?” he asks.

                James gestures to the engagement ring on Lance’s finger, on the hand resting atop his laptop screen. “You’ve been together, what, almost two and a half years? And you’re engaged by college? It’s impressive. And I’m curious.”

                Lance thinks on it a moment, ponders it. His eyes continually flick to the entrance to the food court, waiting for Keith to show up and see James in his seat.

                “There’s no secret formula for a strong relationship,” Lance finally answers, “except for communication. That’s all I wanna say. Our relationship is ours.”

                He finishes with a pointed look, and when James doesn’t respond—doesn’t respond for a good five seconds after Lance has finished—Lance lifts his laptop screen back up in clear dismissal.

                But James doesn’t leave.

                “Really? That’s it?”

                “Yes,” Lance responds, trying not to grit his teeth. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a paper to work on.”

                No, he doesn’t, but he doesn’t actually know what assignments he has to cover, and a paper sounded serious enough, in his head, for James to understand and leave him be. And finally, _finally,_ James rises...only to be met with Keith, arms crossed and the tiniest trace of a glare on his face.

                James looks Keith up and down, apprehensive for a heartbeat before his expression turns cool, cocky. He waves at Lance and bids him goodbye, and starts out of the Student Union, once Keith steps aside to let him leave.

                Lance relaxes into his seat once James leaves, while Keith makes his way around the table, just to plant a kiss on the top of Lance’s head, on the curls that are starting to take shape again, before he walks back around and drops into the now-empty chair.

                “What was that about?” Keith asks, and pulls his breakfast back in front of him, where Lance had it set in the first place.

                “He asked about our relationship,” Lance answers calmly, and reaches one hand across the table.

                Keith takes it, and takes in a breath while Lance rubs his thumb along Keith’s knuckles, slow, reassuring. Fond. Keith finds Lance’s eyes on their hands; his right hand holds Keith’s left, where his engagement ring stands out. He brushes his thumb over the band, and lifts his eyes to Keith’s face.

                “Why?” Keith asks.

                There’s no way James would be stupid enough to try and intrude on their relationship, right? He has more brain cells than that?

                “He said he was impressed,” Lance answers, “by how long we’ve been dating, and the fact that we’re engaged. As college freshmen.”

                _Engaged._

                It’s a warm word, one that steals Keith’s attention as he thinks back on the day he proposed, accompanied by the crashing waves, the seabreeze, the hot sand. Thinks about the two of them that night, glued to each others’ sides, giddy with ecstasy. Remembers Lance’s face when he said yes, the happy tears streaming down his cheeks, the love in the looks he gave Keith.

                He thinks on the present, on their walks to the dining hall and class together, on parting kisses when their schedules don’t line up, on greeting hugs when they link back up, those quick moments when they’re both running between classes, crashing in the dorm together at the end of the day.

                He thinks on the future, on a house and a pet and kids they’re going to raise right, kids they’re going to raise loved. It won’t matter if Keith is stuck in some boring job, because he’ll have a family to come back to. A warm bed every night, and Lance’s inviting arms, his loving and protective embraces...

                “Hey, Earth to Keith. Stop smiling, you’re giving me heart palpitations.”

                Lance’s voice grounds Keith and brings him back to reality; indeed, Lance looks like he’s just been shot in the chest.

                “Not sorry,” Keith says, and his grin shifts from soft to lopsidedly cheeky, as he uses his free hand to pick up his coffee and take a sip.

                He basks in the feeling of Lance’s hand on his, slender fingers wrapped loosely around his own, the long and gentle strokes of his thumb over every ridge of his knuckles, like fog rolling over high mountain tops into low valleys.

                “So what did you tell him?” Keith finally returns to the subject at hand, more relaxed now, now that he’s got caffeine in his system and he’s a little more awake, and he’s got Lance’s blue eyes on him, vibrant blue, vibrant like a clear sky on a sunny day—

                “Communication,” Lance answers with a light shrug.

                Keith waits for more, and when more doesn’t come, he smirks. “That’s it? That’s all you told him?”

                Lance’s own smile shifts, until his expression mirror’s Keith’s. “Yep. Told him our relationship is ours. As much as I like showing you off, I think I like the details of our story kept to us and our friends. Y’know, till I get to embarrass you at our wedding.”

                Keith smirk turns back into a smile; his face heats up, and he averts his eyes to the table, and takes another sip of his coffee. Lance gasps lightly at him.

                “Are you crying?”

                “ _No_ —shut up, it’s too early to be sappy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been rereading squad up and lemme just say: they


	12. who turned off fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mother nature likes playing with extremes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm procrastinating on my stats hw what else is new

                Mother Nature made possibly the worst executive decision she could’ve, in skipping right over autumn. Warm summer weather from the week before has plunged into winter, temperatures plummeting just in time for Lance’s walk from the Student Union, with half of his homework done, back to his dorm.

                By the time he gets back to the dorm and to the room, he’s still shivering from head to toe; the building wasn’t known, in those first weeks with the hot weather straight from the pits of hell, for good temperature regulation. The building is only marginally warmer than the air outside.

                When Lance steps in the room, the window is still open from this morning.

                It must not have bothered Keith, who sits at his desk, poring over some textbook with his headphones in, nodding along to a beat Lance can’t hear. He’s already ready for bed—early, for once—with his wet hair pulled back and his glasses lying off to the side of his desk. He has one leg crossed, foot resting underneath his thigh, and keeps warm in fuzzy pajama pants printed with the _Star Wars_ logo, and Lance’s gray Arus sweatshirt.

                He looks up when Lance enters, features softening when he takes in Lance’s rod-straight form, the way he moves stiffly from the doorway to inside the room, and lets the door fall shut behind him. Instantly, Keith’s taking out his earbuds and rocketing to his feet, as Lance painstakingly shucks off his jacket, even colder with the loss of a layer.

                “I-It’s so cold out there,” Lance chatters. “Wh-Who turned off fall?”

                Keith takes his jacket for him and hangs it up in one of their closets, and then gathers up a blanket from the end of his bed. He drapes it around Lance’s shoulders, as Lance sits on the edge of the bed and kicks off his shoes. Keith climbs on next to him and wraps tight arms around him, and buries his face into the side of Lance’s neck.

                “Is this helping?” Keith mutters, after a few minutes, voice muffled.

                “I think this would be even better,” Lance responds, and squirms, until Keith lets him go. Lance opens up one arm, and sweeps Keith into the blanket with him. Keith wraps his arm around Lance’s chest this time, and snuggles further up against him, while Lance returns his embrace.

                They end up falling back on the bed, neither one letting go of the other, even when their arms start going numb underneath the weight of their bodies.

                “I’ve still gotta shower,” Lance mumbles at some point, staring up at the ceiling, hands rubbing lazy circles into Keith’s skin. “I don’t wanna get _uuuuuuuuuuup_ …”

                “Nope, c’mon,” Keith says, and attempts to sit up. “I think you’re warm enough, and the shower will help.”

                He’s nearly upright when Lance’s arm tugs on him, sharply, and he yelps as he crashes back against against Lance’s chest. Lance cuddles him closer, buries his face in Keith’s neck, ignores the wet hair tickling him.

                “ _Laaaaaaaaaance_ ,” Keith groans, “I’ve got _homewooooork_.”

                “Homework can wait,” Lance replies.

                In this position, Keith is rendered more _useless turtle lying on its back_ than _human_ , as he flails, struggles, and ultimately fails to break free of Lance’s grip. He flops back, limbs going limp as noodles. He feels the smile Lance presses into his skin and scowls.

                “You little shit.”

                “Your little shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls,,, save me from stats hell  
> also shameless self-promo time bc why not
> 
> read **[stealing our own place in the sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441)** , a voltron fix-it fic that begins at season 4 (aka: i'm rewriting all of seasons 4-8, my city now). in which shiro's not acting like shiro, the lines between enemy and ally are blurring, lance makes a startling discovery, pidge goes after her family, allura begins digging into the past, keith confronts his past and his future, and hunk's trying his best to get the team to stay alive and mostly intact. featuring adam! alive!! and all those other juicy predictions and twists that would've been great to see in canon but they just!!! _DIDN'T!!!!_
> 
> anyway
> 
> see y'all later


	13. happy place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith daydreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe i'm sappy for them what about it

                Keith sits in the back of one of his afternoon classes.

                Scouting out his classrooms the weekend before school started gave Keith the layout of the place, and he showed up early enough on the first day to snag the seat in the backmost corner of the room. It wasn’t—isn’t—that he doesn’t want to learn.

                His seat rests in front of a window stretching from floor to ceiling, and from the fourth floor of the building, he has a breathtaking view of campus. At the moment, he’s got twenty minutes to class starting, twenty minutes to let his mind wander.

                Overcast skies stretch out above campus and disappear into the horizon, drizzled coming and going as the day progresses. Keith doesn’t know what it is about cloudy days that make him feel sappy, but his heart’s content today, for one reason or another, as he watches students travel between classes in throngs, rivers rushing in too many different directions. Then he flicks his gaze up, away from the students, to the buildings.

                His eyes drift beyond the most immediate ones, the ones next door, the ones in this ring of lecture halls and classrooms. They latch onto the taller buildings, those much further away: the Lions’ Den.

                It’s a cozy place, despite the name. The student apartment complex, usually available only to upperclassmen, maybe whichever grad students still want to live on campus. He’s seen the local snapchat stories of the apartments shared between two or three roommates, and his mind wanders to his favorite place, as he takes in the distant glass panes reflecting the gray sky: Lance.

                He pictures moving into one of those little units with him, high up, with just as charming a view of campus. Late nights spent overlooking the twinkling lights of the university deep in winter, glittering snow reflecting orange streetlight. Afternoons in each others’ arms, catching an hour or two of rest between classes. Cooking dinner in a kitchenette, instead of nuking something in a tiny microwave or hitting up a dining hall.

                He’s not aware he’s started grinning like an idiot until someone waves a hand in front of his face, and Keith jerks back in his seat like someone’s kicked him. His eyes widen as he takes in Nadia, who flashes him a sunny smile as she takes up the seat next to him, and then kicks off the floor and wheels over until they’re practically touching.

                “Whatcha thinkin’ about there, Kogane?”

                It’s a thing, in James Griffin’s circle of friends, to address each other by last name, or nickname, or anything that isn’t their first name. He’s supposed to call Nadia _Rizavi_. He’s supposed to _answer her._ But instead he blinks, and then shakes his head.

                “Nothin’,” he responds, with a sudden memory of James in the Student Union on Saturday, asking Lance questions about their relationship out of the blue.

                “Didn’t look like _nothin’_ to me,” she responds, mimicking him. She narrows her eyes with a sly grin. “I think you were thinking about McClain.”

                Keith flushes, and then scowls and ducks his head, while Nadia throws her head back and laughs, loud enough to draw looks from the other kids who arrived to class early. Keith buried his face on his desk, fingers digging into the back of his head.

                “You were!” Nadia says. “I knew it!”

                Keith groans, and doesn’t lift his head. “Keep your voice down.”

                When Nadia agrees, and Keith moves one arm and peers up just enough to confirm that people have looked away, and left them in peace, he slowly pushes himself back upright, and leans back in his seat, quietly studying Nadia. She’s still grinning, hands folded out in front of her in a mockery of innocence.

                “How’d you even—?”

                “It’s the same look Ina tells me I have when I’m thinking about her,” Nadia answers primly.

                Ina—her girlfriend, the only one of her group she’ll ever address by first name outside of a serious situation. She smiles dreamily and leans forward on the desk with an overdramatic sigh, and then shoots another look at Keith.

                Keith rolls his eyes.

                “So, why were you thinking about him?” Nadia presses.

                Keith shrugs. “Sometimes I do that.” _Maybe it’s just my happy place, and I like spending time there._

                Sometimes he likes drifting off to La La Land, which he’s always considered short for LanceyLance Land. He likes thinking about the arms that hold him at night, the soft lips he gets to kiss each day, the smile that could outshine the sun, the eyes deeper than the oceans and more vast than the cosmos—

                “He’s thinking about you.”

                Nadia’s voice snaps Keith from his reverie, and he whips his head toward her. She’s got a phone pointed at him, and cackles again when she realizes he’s broken from his trance.

                “Wh-What are you doing?” he practically demands, and Nadia laughs hard enough to snort.

                “Snapchatting McClain,” she answers, and lowers her phone as she sends what’s inevitably a video.

                Keith groans again and pulls his hood—Lance’s hood, because he snagged _Lance’s_ jacket this morning, and it was more on purpose than an accident—over his head, and buries his face on the table. He only moves again when his phone vibrates, and a new text from Lance lights up his screen.

 **starboy <3  
**aww love u too uwu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAYBE I'M SAPPY FOR THEM WHAT ABOUT IT


	14. you get up first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith wakes up. lance wakes up. neither of them particularly wants to be awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i understand it's friday but i wanna just shower and go to bed but there's a group of girls hanging out in the bathroom wtf

                When Keith wakes up, it’s only fifty degrees and raining, and he and Lance made the decision to leave the windows open last night.

                Keith shivers at the sudden chill he gets when he realizes, because _wow, it really does feel like winter,_ because he can distinctly remember Christmases within the last few years that were warmer than this.

                He presses his face deeper into the curve of Lance’s neck, tries to press the rest of his body closer, tightens his arms around Lance’s back. Lance makes a quiet noise in his sleep, the release of a breath that tickles Keith’s forehead, and he pinpoints the moment Lance wakes up. His fingers move, from where they stilled the night before, running through Keith’s hair, and his other hand holds more firmly the small of Keith’s back.

                “Lance?” Keith whispers, after about a minute.

                “Keith?” Lance replies, and his mouth curls up into a smile, and he leans forward just a little bit to kiss Keith’s forehead.

                “Good morning,” Keith says. “I don’t wanna get up.”

                “Neither do I,” Lance responds, and so neither of them moves, content to sit there and hold each other.

                Both of them know they’re going to have to get up within the next handful of minutes, because they have an early class and they’re gonna need to hit the dining hall first, if they want to function like human beings throughout the day. But they’re warm, and the bed and blankets are warm, and the touches they give each other are light and gentle and Keith doesn’t know if his goosebumps are from Lance or the air in the room.

                “You get up first,” Lance mumbles into Keith’s hair after some time, and Keith groans.

                “No, you.”

                “I can’t when you’re clinging to me like this.”

                For emphasis, Lance rolls over, until he’s on top of Keith, and practically crushing his face. Keith grunts underneath him, trying his best to shove Lance off—until Lance yelps, and suddenly _he’s_ the clingy one, wrapping legs around Keith, clawing at him.

                “Nononono—Keith!”

                Keith would laugh, if they were back in one of their houses. But they’re not. They’re in their dorm, and the beds here are a good extra foot off of the floor, and Lance is dangling over the side of the bed. Keith sits up slightly and grabs Lance by the arms, pulling him back onto the bed, until Lance collapses on him, head falling onto Keith’s chest.

                “Jeez,” Lance breathes out, deflating like a balloon, while Keith wraps an arm around his back and holds him steady. “That was...terrifying.”

                A tumble from the beds here would be much harder to recover from than it would be back in town. So Keith nods, reaches his other hand up and twists strands of Lance’s hair, much curlier now that he’s stopped straightening it.

                “Think that shocked you awake?” Keith asks.

                “You ass,” Lance mutters, but his touch has returned to soft, returned to nothing more than a gentle caress. He lingers in Keith’s embrace for a few minutes longer, before sighing and rolling over, and then sitting up. He runs a hand through his hair, still damp from his shower the night before. Keith sits up with him, and waits for Lance to get out of bed first before following suit.

                “I hate the cold weather,” Lance hisses out between his teeth.

                And it’s only going to go downhill from here.

                Keith holds back a laugh as he walks over to his chair, where he’s draped out his clothes the night before. He throws his sweatshirt at Lance.

                “Take it.”

                He has plenty more, and he can just steal one of Lance’s, when it comes down to it. He watches with a small smile as Lance takes the sweatshirt into his hands, and shrugs it on over the pajama shirt he doesn’t feel like changing out of.

                Lance catches Keith staring and strikes some ridiculous pose, popping his hip way too far out, stretching his legs until he’s nearly dropped into a split. He bats his eyes overdramatically, and Keith laughs, picks up his phone, points his camera at Lance.

                “Smile, you dork,” Keith instructs, and Lance flashes his most overzealous grin, as he throws a hand over his forehead and tips his head back. Keith snaps a photo of Lance, and promptly saves it to his camera roll, and then sends it to all of his snap streaks: Lance...and Matt. And Shiro, after Shiro took his phone one day and started one, and then refused to let the streak die.

                “How do I look?” Lance asks.

                “Like you need this,” Keith says, and steps forward, and pulls Lance up from the floor.

                And then he kisses him.

                It’s definitely one way to keep warm, as Lance gets to full height and tugs Keith closer, as close as he can, between their multiple layers. And before Lance knows it, Keith wiggles his way out of Lance’s grasp, pads across the floor, and starts tugging on boots.

                “Alright, now c’mon. We better hit the dining hall.”

                “That kiss was too short,” Lance protests, and Keith ducks out of the way as Lance chases after him. Keith kicks Lance’s shoes toward him in his wake, and then snags the backpack from the back of his chair, brandishing it like a shield.

                “Breakfast first, Starboy,” Keith replies, grinning.

                Lance sighs. “ _Fine_ , I guess we’ll eat _breakfast_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey,,, if u were at an event called LATE NIGHT tonight,,, and u were dressed up as KEITH in a RED FLANNEL with a PURPLE GALRA MARK...and u walked by the girl in the GRAY SWEATSHIRT with the SPACE BACKPACK...HMU...KEITH COSPLAYER I KNOW UR OUT THERE
> 
> ...also beatrice made me put the callout here, so
> 
> anyway see ya later im gonna go see if maybe the bathroom is clear now


	15. a saturday night apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance spend a saturday night apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have an essay due tuesday
> 
> i have been trying to write it for two days
> 
> this is all i have produced

                It’s one of those rare Saturday nights that Keith and Lance spend apart.

                They spent the day together, wandering around campus, goofing off, basking in the sunshine that seems so rare when nearly every other day this week’s been cloudy. But whereas Lance’s batteries needed a single hour to recharge over a quiet dinner in a near-empty dining hall, Keith’s needed— _need_ —far longer.

                The opportunity arose that afternoon for them to go clubbing. Keith’s never been in a club in his life, and Lance hasn’t, either, although Keith knows he’s always wanted to go. When Nadia approached them earlier in the afternoon, offering a chance for them to go (along with herself, Ina, James, Ryan, a few other kids Keith didn’t and still doesn’t know, and Hunk), Lance nearly blurted his yes before Nadia could finish her sentence.

                Keith took the rest of the day to contemplate his answer—or, rather, took the afternoon to contemplate how to go about saying _no._

                He tried to bargain with himself, when he sat in the grass with his head on Lance’s stomach, while Lance described and gave backstories to every random shape in the passing clouds he could find. Because part of him felt and _still feels_ guilty over the prospect of missing Lance’s first clubbing experience, some trivial but at-the-moment important milestone in his life, a rite of passage of sorts. But it’s one of those things that Keith knows he’ll regret the moment he sets foot in there, and he would rather not set off his sensory overload.

                His answer came shortly after dinner, while Lance was preparing to go, rides all set an organized with plenty of room for other people to join or drop. He sat on his bed in the dorm, watching Lance swap shirts three times before settling on a red button-down, with the first three buttons undone.

                “Lance?” he’d asked, and Lance turned, and Keith could tell from his gaze he already knew and understood. But Keith made himself say the words anyway, made him tell Lance, “I’m sorry, but...I can’t. I’m gonna sit this one out.”

                And maybe college is _supposed_ to be for living, _supposed_ to be for stepping out of your comfort zone, but this is a step too big too soon. It might be an 18-and-over club, not 21-and-over, so perfectly legal for himself and Lance to get into without running the risk of arrest if caught, but it’s...just not for Keith. No matter what _Introvert’s Guide to the Club_ he may read online, he’s not ready. Not tonight.

                Lance had just smiled at him, walked over to where Keith sat with both feet dangling over the side of the bed, and put a hand down on  the comforter on either side of him, until the two of them were face-to-face.

                “I figured as much,” Lance said. “You gonna be alright here on your own?”

                Keith had nodded and met Lance’s gaze, the blue eyes brimming with concern and gentleness. “Yeah. Plenty of stuff to do. Might hit up Late Night.”

                Late Night on Friday night tends to be crowded and loud, and Keith usually hits maybe one activity before ducking out and doing his own thing. But Saturdays are calmer, emptier with half of the campus either home for the weekend or off-campus at some party—or club, in Lance’s case.

                “You sure?” Lance asked, and leaned in, and Keith cradled Lance’s face in his hands with a nod and a scoff and an “I can handle myself fine.” And then Keith closed the distance between them, and released him when he finally pulled back, to finish getting ready and head out—and also to _breathe,_ because that was a thing he needed to do.

                They parted ways with a final, briefer kiss, and instructions for the other to _stay safe, don’t do anything you’re not supposed to do, text me if you need me. Or even if you don’t need me._

                Several hours later, and no texts, as Keith sprawls out on the Student Union lawn and gazes out at the stars, warm in the jacket Lance left for him back at the dorm. Truthfully, he didn’t expect any. Lance is out having fun, and that’s what matters.

                And Keith is content to stay right where he is, headphones in, soft music playing.

                He zones out, eventually; at some point, there’s nothing but him, and his music, and the open sky, a million possibilities, and if he reaches up high enough, he can touch them. Dozens of open paths lying open for him to follow. He doesn’t notice the other students, doesn’t notice the grass beneath him, doesn’t notice when someone comes walking up behind him until there’s suddenly a face bent over his, smiling, hair damp.

                Keith sits up with a yelp, and tears his headphones out of his ears.

                “Sorry,” Lance says, and sits down next to him, while Keith watches, wide-eyed. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.” He tilts his head, and the smile never leaves his face. “You’re gorgeous, you know that? I spent a few minutes staring before I came over here, just so you know. And I took a picture.”

                Lance opens his phone, while Keith still tries to form words, because _how late is it that Lance is back?_

                “See?” Lance says, and shows Keith the picture. It’s of him, lying back with his arms crossed underneath his head, his legs bent, one foot crossed and resting on top of his knee. “Look at you. Like some kinda moon prince or something.”

                Keith stutters out the beginning of a _what_ before his voice dies, and his cheeks heat up. Lance’s smile widens, and he reaches out and tucks a strand of Keith’s hair behind his ear. He’s not helping the blushing situation, not in the slightest.

                “When did you get back?” Keith finally manages.

                Lance shrugs, and flicks his eyes down to his phone screen. “Like fifteen minutes ago. I hit the dorm first, and you weren’t there. So I figured you were here.”

                Keith’s eyes, too, linger on the phone screen. _12:15 AM._ He’s been out here for far too long, completely unaware.

                “How was the club?” he asks, and raises his eyes to Lance.

                Lance’s eyes light up, and he launches into his story about his first clubbing experience, the music and the people and the energy in the crowd. The more he goes on, the more certain Keith is that he made the right choice in not going, because he never would have survived. Their high school dances were hell enough; with this, Keith would have had to take a million breaks, and he would rather Lance be having a blast, than worrying about his health every second.

                “Yeah, so we’re thinking of making it like, a once-a-month sort of deal, or like, we’ll go if there are special events. I dunno! Still up in the air, but—yeah, it was...it was a blast.”

                “I’m glad you had fun,” Keith says. “Y’know you get this look on your face when you’re really excited about something, right?” Lance raises his eyebrows, so Keith leans in further. “Your eyes. There’s this _spark_ there. And you ramble a lot and it’s like you’re off in your own little world, because you get so _deep_ into it. And you don’t stop smiling. This…” He traces a thumb across Lance’s lips, and smirks when Lance’s face gets hotter. “This doesn’t go away. It’s...it’s amazing.”

                “Well, uh,” Lance says, and swallows like he’s not a thousand shades of tomato, “I-I don’t just...get like that when I’m excited about stuff. I-I mean...well, maybe I do, because, I, ah…” He eyes Keith’s mouth and swallows again. “You. You make me like that, too.”

                “Really now?” Keith teases.

                Lance tries to glare. “You little—”

                Keith cuts him off by pressing their mouths together—hard, at first, and Lance grabs Keith’s face to steady them, though maybe steady isn’t the word for it. Keith grips Lance’s waist, tight enough that he can feel Lance’s ribs through his shirt.

                Keith allows himself to fall back on the grass, and pulls Lance down on top of him.

                Lance must have expected it, and makes sure he doesn’t accidentally crush Keith as they settle on the ground. When they break for air, Lance presses his forehead against Keith’s.

                “I still missed you,” Lance breathes out. “Saw a bunch of these couples there. But I know it’s not your scene. But—I didn’t forget about you. Never.”

                “Didn’t think you would,” Keith replies. “Gotta have our own lives at some point, right?”

                Lance laughs, light and breathy, and shuts his eyes. “God, I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want 2 kermit sewer of side
> 
> someone write this essay for me
> 
> bye


	16. without a word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this must be love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i miss them

                After a hectic morning and an afternoon painfully slow by comparison, an exhausting day overall, Keith finds himself in Lance’s arms.

                Rain splashes their windows, blown by violent winds. Every few minutes, lightning flashes and thunder cracks and people down the hall shout about how ridiculous this storm is, and Keith just closes his eyes and leans back while Lance hums and rocks back and forth, just a little bit. His hands lie limp in Keith’s lap, loose around his waist, and Keith holds onto them, touch light.

                They’re not doing a single thing, except sitting on the floor of their dorm. No laptop or TV on in front of them, neither of them sleeping, no words being exchanged. Both of them rest against the other, completely content with listening to the rain outside, listening to each others’ quiet breathing, to their beating hearts.

                This, Keith muses, must be love.

                The ability to sit in peace and quiet and do nothing, and still be completely at ease. The ability to hold and be held without anything else, just tenderness and love. Keith can’t help the smile that overtakes his face, as he tips his head back onto Lance’s shoulder, and Lance leans his head on top of Keith’s, smushing his hair to his forehead.

                Keith values this, probably more than most other things. Lance’s arms are a safe space, his chest pressed against Keith’s back a calming presence that offers comfort, security. Lance’s breath blows strands of Keith’s hair free, fluttering for a moment before they fall back down.

                He’s never not going to be grateful for this, will never not cherish this from the bottom of his heart. He’s got this to look forward to every day, no matter how long the day’s been. Lance will always be there waiting for him, and just the opposite; Keith will always wait for Lance, will always have open arms ready for his fiancé.

                Lance leans to the side, then, and Keith follows suit, as both of them go crashing sideways on the ground. Lance tightens his arms just the slightest around Keith’s waist and inhales, as he moves his head until his chin is settled on Keith’s shoulder, his nose lost in Keith’s hair.

                This position’s not as comfortable as the last, but at least they’re both still on the small rug that rests over the bare space of their floor, instead of the cold linoleum. As it is, Lance would be the first to hit the tile, his back closer to the bed than Keith’s, so Keith’s content as long as he doesn’t feel that sudden sting, as long as he stays in the warmth of the rug.

                Eventually, Lance loosens his grip on Keith, until Keith rolls away, and Lance collapses onto the rug with a small _oomf_ , limbs sprawling out, one arm draping over the small of Keith’s back—a constant, reassuring presence. Lance’s arm spends a long time there, if it’s not around Keith’s shoulders. And he doesn’t mind, never minds. Lance’s touch is an anchor that keeps him tethered to this world on the days he feels like drifting away, an eternal reminder that Keith’s never alone.

                Lance has his back, literally and figuratively.

                Keith turns his attention to Lance’s face. Both of their cheeks press against the rug, sure to leave marks behind later. Lance smiles at him, gaze wistful, and Keith reads the pain behind his eyes clearly: _we have class in the morning and we’ve still gotta shower but I really don’t wanna get up because the rain is nice and you’re beautiful, you know that? I just wanna stay here._

                So Keith doesn’t tell him to get up. Instead, he reaches his hand over, and cups Lance’s cheek. Brushes short strands of Lance’s hair behind his ear. Runs his fingers through Lance’s curls. Wonders if it’s possible to fall more in love with a person every single day, even when you think you already love them the most you can.

                He wonders if Lance is wondering the same things, as he slides his hand under the hem of Keith’s shirt and rubs circles in his back, while never breaking the hold they have on each others’ gazes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really really really really really miss them


	17. wanna dance with somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> late night at the student union, ft. the universal dj party playlist that's used for literally every event ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was brought to you by me watching a quiet place and wanting a kl dancing scene, plus the dj at late night playing all the same songs i've always heard at high school dances
> 
> and as we all know, kl has taken over my fucking life

                Late Night is loud, but tonight, Keith doesn’t mind.

                He’s still riding the high of watching a movie with a good audience when Lance tugs him through the Student Union, away from the theater, past various lounges, and into the food court, where there’s a stage set up with large speakers, and a DJ sits off to the left. The songs are familiar, achingly familiar. There must be some universal DJ playlist that exists out there, because there are the same songs he’s heard at homecoming year after year, at prom.

                Lance realizes it, too.

                Keith looks over at him, at the bright smile on his face as he leans over the balcony running around the room, dividing the food court into its two floors. He never lets go of Keith’s hand, and as a result, Keith, too, leans over the railing.

                He looks away, to observe the activities going on below, and pretends not to notice when Lance turns his gaze on Keith, the way his features soften, before sharpening with the brightness of the sun as his idea lights up his entire face.

                “Keith, Keith, KeithKeithKeithKeith—”

                He jerks Keith away from the railing and jogs around the balcony, to a more secluded part of the food court, hidden away from most eyes, but still in view of some people. Keith stumbles after him, eyebrows raised in question.

                They don’t stop until they hit the lounge at the very end of the balcony, a long window stretching from floor to ceiling displaying a view of the buildings across the way, lit up from the inside with yellow light. Couches and tables offer a place to sit, to maybe eat or do work or just set their things down, and Lance lets go of Keith only long enough to take is backpack off and sling it into one of the vacant seats.

                “Dance with me,” Lance says, and holds out his hands. He wears a look on his face, innocent and pleading, and it’s about then that the song changes. 80s music and Whitney Houston’s voice fill the Student Union, and Lance bounces on the heels of his feet, and Keith can’t say no.

                He shrugs off his backpack and tosses it against Lance’s, and Lance surges forward and sweeps Keith into his arms, and takes off leading them into a partner dance that Keith doesn’t know the name of. All he knows is that it’s fast-paced, and Lance should know by now that Keith has no issue keeping up with him. He’s trying to _challenge_ Keith, Keith knows, because Lance keeps speeding up, and Keith keeps his pace.

                “You ready?” Lance murmurs at some point, leaning in close enough that his lips brush Keith’s ear, and Keith shivers. He narrows his eyes, and snatches the lead out from underneath Lance. Lance gapes, even as he follows along, and goes into a spin before Keith dips him, and they pause, faces close enough that their noses bump.

                “Of course,” he responds, grinning cheekily, and Lance glares.

                “You ass.”

                His smile betrays his words and his eyes, and Keith just laughs at him and yanks him back up. He catches Lance around the back, while Lance grips the front of Keith’s shirt and tugs him in for a kiss. It’s a little rougher than normal, hard enough that their teeth clack before their mouths slot together. Keith pulls Lance in harder by his jacket, until their bodies are flush against each other.

                It brings back memories of the two homecomings they attended as a couple, their junior prom, their senior prom—senior prom, especially. Keith still keeps the photos from the photobooth in his wallet, can still feel every last sensation from that night if he tries hard enough: Lance against him, Lance’s hands in his hair, his hands on Lance’s face, the sharp creases of Lance’s suit. They tried for normal pictures, they’ll both swear that up and down. But it was the two of them, and no one to watch them.

                The only thing Keith doesn’t remember from that night is who initiated it. Maybe both of them. Certainly, all bets were off the moment their eyes met, just like now.

                They break for air, and Lance presses their foreheads together, a hunger burning in his gaze that sets Keith’s nerves on fire. His stomach turns into an acrobat. Somehow, the dizziness is comforting, a familiarity that makes Keith feel almost carefree again.

                The desire in Lance’s eyes is both old and new. Old, because there’s always been a part of him that got attached to Keith. Old, and Keith viewed it often throughout their nearly two-and-a-half years together, viewed it enough to recognize it now. But the newness—the newness is what takes Keith’s breath away. Because as sophomores, juniors, partly seniors, they didn’t know how far they would come. Vague hope turned into a maybe, maybe turned into an _I want it_ , and _I want it_ turned into the engagement rings on their fingers.

                A future took shape, and that’s exactly what Keith sees when he looks at Lance, exactly what Lance must be seeing now.

                In the silence that lingers between them, in the silence between one song and the next, the DJ makes another advertisement for the open mic. Lance flicks his eyes toward the railing, toward the DJ booth, and Keith shakes his head. Lance smiles, closes his eyes, and eases Keith against the wall.

                “Alright then,” he whispers, and goes back in for another kiss, and Keith follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love them more than i love myself


	18. lemme just sleep here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tired lances are cuddly lances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i just updated a couple hours ago what about it

                They don’t go back to their dorm for a while.

                Lance treats them both to hot coffees from Dunkin, because the temperatures have plunged and it’s late and hot drinks are always good at night, right?

                They end up curling up next to each other on one of the couches they’d danced near. They press up against each other, Keith’s head resting on Lance’s shoulder. They clasp hands as they sip their coffees—decaf, but Lance won’t tell Keith that, but Keith’s realized, but he won’t tell Lance that—and listen to the music blaring throughout the food court, to the students singing karaoke. Some people belt out songs, others butcher them, and Keith and Lance murmur the songs to each other.

                Slow songs come up, several times, and each time, Lance insists Keith get up and dance with him again. And because they’re slow songs, Keith can get away with spending the song swaying, leaning on Lance for support.

                It’s when they crash back on the couch, and Lance doesn’t get up for the sixth slow song of the night, that Keith realizes they should probably be heading back to their dorm soon, but the moment he starts to rise, Lance whines and pulls him back down to the couch, reversing their earlier positions. He nestles his face into the crook of Keith’s neck and wraps arms around his chest.

                “I don’t wanna get up,” he grumbles, and then adds, more quietly, “I just wanna stay here with you.”

                And Keith’s ready to protest up until that last _with you._

                Once Lance utters it, any shred of fight he might have possessed disappears. He sinks back into the couch, and slides arms around Lance’s shoulder, around his back, pulling him closer until Lance practically straddles his lap, head still resting on Keith’s shoulder.

                “You know it’s Parents’ Weekend, right?” Keith mutters. “You know we’ve gotta be up early?”

                “Shh,” Lance mumbles. “Lemme just sleep here.”

                If they didn’t have their backpacks with them, Keith would offer to carry him all the way back to the dorm. But they have their backpacks, so while carrying Lance is still an option, it’s only awkward at best and absolutely miserable at worst. So Keith caves.

                “Alright.”

                Part of him hopes Lance is joking, that he’ll get up eventually—he’ll _have to,_ because the Student Union isn’t open forever—and his blessing comes in the form of Hunk arriving with a scoff.

                “Toldja,” Hunk says, and Keith spies Shay following him. Shay’s smiling, and waves, but Hunk shakes his head. “I can’t believe this.”

                “Shhhh,” Lance hisses, and doesn’t look up, but pointedly nestles further against Keith. “The baby’s sleeping.”

                “Why are _you guys_ even up this late?” Keith asks, turning about half of his attention on Hunk and Shay.

                The other half of his attention stays firmly on Lance, as he rubs Lance’s back, traces fingers up and down Lance’s spine, while Lance wraps his arms tighter around Keith, buries his face deeper.

                “We were on our way out when we saw you two,” Hunk responds.

                Keith raises his eyebrows and nods to Lance. “You could hardly see him.”

                “Two humans on top of each other like that don’t exactly look human. Then we saw your face and figured Lance was the lump on top of you,” Shay says.

                “Fuck you, Shay,” Lance mutters, voice muffled.

                Shay rolls her eyes, not offended in the least, and links her hand with Hunk’s. “You too, Lance. Well, we’re heading to bed. Long day tomorrow. Night, guys.”

                “Lance, for the love of God, get some sleep,” Hunk adds, and then nods to Keith. “G’night, man.”

                Keith nods back to him, and Lance waits to raise his head until he’s certain they’re gone, wearing an over-exaggerated frown, before he smushes himself back into Keith with a deep exhale. Keith still holds onto him, still listens to the sounds of off-key singing in the Student Union.

                Yeah, they’ve got stuff to do tomorrow, but Keith’s pulled later nights before, and it’s the weekend, and Lance is in no mood to get up. And honestly? As long as Keith’s got Lance, there’s no place he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bye off to write another one of these
> 
> remember when i said i'd update infrequently
> 
> lmao well i've discovered i can't function without thinking about Them


	19. i'm here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he can't do it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally sobbed writing this how are things with u guys

                Keith runs fingers through his wet hair as he makes the short walk from the bathroom back to his and Lance’s dorm. He contemplates pulling it back for the night, maybe asking Lance to braid it, when he pulls open the door, and stops in his tracks.

                “Lance?” he asks, and tentatively steps into the room, slowly shutting the door behind him, blood running cold when he takes in packed suitcases, items removed from Lance’s desk, half of both closets empty. Some of Keith’s own clothes, clothes Lance took and never really intended on giving back (clothes Keith didn’t mind not getting back, because Lance always looks nice in his clothes), lie on his bed, flung haphazardly.

                Lance turns at the sound of his name, and Keith freezes at the look Lance turns on him.

                “I can’t do it anymore,” Lance bites out, and steps toward Keith. Keith flinches as he does, bile crawling up the back of his throat. “I can’t go on pretending like this.”

                He’s never looked at Keith like this. Not in middle school, with whatever _rivalry_ he conjured up, not in the beginning of high school, certainly not in that tail end, never in the last few months. Keith’s back hits the door, and Lance stops when it rattles.

                “W-What are you—?”

                “Did you really think it would last?” Lance interrupts, and laughs bitterly as he twists the engagement ring around on his finger. Keith’s heart pounds harder, and the band on his own finger weighs more heavily.

                “What?” Keith whispers, because it’s all he can manage, because his breath comes shorter now, faster now, and it takes everything in him to keep quiet, to keep himself under control before he loses it. He was just in the _shower_ , everything was _fine_ twenty minutes ago!

                “Us,” Lance practically spits. “Making it all the way through college together? Really? C’mon, Keith. Get with the program. We were just living in a fantasy, and I can’t play pretend anymore.”

                He takes the ring from his finger, and Keith can’t form words as he drops it on the floor. It clatters against the linoleum, loud and grating on Keith’s ears. Keith stares at it, his eyes stinging. He forces himself to look back up at Lance, the unspoken demand of _why_ clear in his expression.

                “You have no idea how hard it is to put up with you,” Lance explains, impossibly even for the situation. “You isolate yourself _constantly._ I don’t even think you know _how_ to make friends. You certainly won’t with your issues.” He takes another step forward, and Keith shrinks back, borderline hyperventilating. “Do you know what I have to deal with every day, wondering when your next _breakdown_ is gonna come? Wondering if I’m gonna have to sacrifice more of my life just because you can’t get your shit together?”

                Lance stops, a long enough break for Keith to get a word in, but words don’t come. His mouth opens and closes, and Lance turns away with a shake of his head and a bitter exhale that might be some kind of laugh. Light and incredulous.

                “Just what I thought. Can’t even defend yourself. I forgot, I always have to fight your battles, too.”

                _Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong_ screams the voice in Keith’s head, as he trembles violently, unable to move until Lance gathers up his things and starts for the door again, suitcases and bags slung over shoulders and balancing on arms. He kicks the ring out of his way with a scoff, and gives Keith one look that says _move it, I’m tired and I wanna get this over with_.

                “L-Lance, please,” Keith whispers, voice shaking, cracking, borderline breaking. “I-I don’t even...I’m _trying_. I-I...please don’t…”

                “Keith, move,” Lance says, but his voice is softer than before, almost like the Lance Keith knows and loves is still there, but there’s still an edge to it. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

                Keith shudders, shakes his head, utters the word _no_ over and over again as Lance finally gets fed up and pushes him aside, and then wrenches open the door and stumbles out into the hallway, lugging his suitcases and bags along with him. Keith collapses to his knees, as Lance shuts the door on him with a final slam. It’s about then that the sobs break free. One escapes Keith, ugly and loud as he clutches at his chest with one hand, the other hand scrabbling for Lance’s abandoned engagement ring. Keith takes it into his fist, cries out _I’m sorry_ and _please come back_ over and over, but deep down he’s known, he’s always known.

                People will always abandon him sooner or later.

                He collapses against the door, wheezing, choking on his tears, and from the other side, he hears Lance muttering, _babe, Keith, Keith, hey—_

And then Keith jerks awake in bed, face wet and nose clogged. He sits up hard enough, quick enough, that he nearly tumbles over the side of the bed, with how fast he wrenches away from the body next to him, but then there are hands pulling him back from the edge, arms around him, a chest he’s being held against—

                “Keith,” Lance whispers. “Hey, hey...Keith, it’s me. Look at me. Hey.”

                Gentle fingers tilt his chin up, and Keith goes wide-eyed as his brain finally makes the right connections, finally realizes he’s awake, in reality. Lance fixes him with a soft look, a look that speaks of concern, fear over his health and safety.

                There’s a moment that passes between them, a fleeting moment where they lock gazes and do nothing but stare at each other, Keith in terror and Lance with all the tender care in the world, and then it fractures, shattering like glass as Keith sobs out a _please don’t leave me_ and buries his face in Lance’s chest.

                “I’m here,” Lance whispers, tightening one hand around his back, bringing the other to the back of Keith’s head. He smooths down Keith’s hair, and settles his chin on top of Keith’s head. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

                He holds onto Keith like if he loosens his grip even the slightest, then Keith will slip away from him like sand, be lost to him forever. Keith digs his fingers into Lance’s back and hangs on just as hard, quaking from head to toe as he cries, soaking Lance’s shirt with his tears.

                “I’m here,” Lance repeats like a broken record, voice soft and quiet, reassuring, comforting. He keeps at it until Keith’s crying subsides, until there’s nothing but quiet hyperventilating, easing into steadier breathing.

                “Use the breathing exercise, babe,” Lance whispers, and starts to draw back to give Keith better space to breathe, but Keith’s grip suddenly becomes death-tight and Lance dives right back in. “I’m here, I promise. I’m right here. Breathe for me, alright?”

                This time, he waits to pull back until Keith does. Keith scowls, angrier at himself than anything as he drags an arm over his face and sniffles. When his arm drops back down to his side, Lance takes his hands.

                “How’d you know to wake me up?” Keith croaks out.

                “You were muttering in your sleep,” Lance answers, quietly, slowly. “I thought you were trying to talk to me. Then I realized you were sleep-talking, and then I realized you were freaking out. You kept saying _no, no, come back, please don’t leave,_ and at first maybe I thought...I thought you might’ve been talking to your mom, or Shiro, and then you said _Lance_ …”

                Lance rubs circles on the backs of Keith’s hands with his thumb, while Keith takes in a shuddering breath, lets it out just as unsteadily, nods.

                “I had a nightmare,” he admits, and hangs his head, and mumbles out the rest: “You...you were leaving, you didn’t want to put up with me anymore…” His eyes land on Lance’s engagement ring, still there, still on his finger like it always is. It gleams in the moonlight streaming in from the window. “You took off your ring and threw it on the floor...a-and then you got your stuff and left. Left the dorm...left me…”

                Keith’s voice catches again, and Lance drags him back in for another hug.

                “Oh, Keith,” he whispers, running fingers through his hair as he melts into him.

                “I should’ve realized, I should’ve known,” Keith chokes out, and Lance shushes him.

                “You were having a nightmare, of course you didn’t realize,” he whispers. “It’s okay now. Everything’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you, and you’ve always got me.”

                Keith’s eyes burn again, tears welling up and spilling over his eyelids, sliding down his cheeks, and Lance swallows past the lump in his throat.

                “You and me,” he manages, and Keith doesn’t even hesitate before finishing, “Us against the world,” in his own broken voice.

                “That’s how it is, and how it’s always gonna be,” Lance says with such a conviction that Keith can’t stifle his responding gasp, responding sob. “I’m not going anywhere, you hear me, Kogane? Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’m at your side. Now and forever.”

                Keith nods, vigorous as he continues on sobbing, and Lance falls back against the mattress, bringing Keith down on top of him. Lance yanks the covers over them and holds Keith as close as he can until he cries himself dry, utters a needless apology for waking Lance up, and Lance responds that everything’s alright.

                Lance doesn’t go back to sleep until he hears Keith’s breathing even out into that telltale hum, until Keith’s not shaking anymore, until his grip isn’t so death-like. Lance doesn’t let himself fall back into slumber until he’s certain Keith’s already there.

                “I love you,” he whispers, with the knowledge that Keith can’t hear him. “Fuck, Keith, I’m _in love_ with you. More than you’ll ever be able to know. I won’t let go. I promise. You always have me.”

                And Lance waits a heartbeat for a response, because sometimes Keith _does_ fake being asleep, or _does_ pretend like he’s not listening, but this time, Lance gets nothing. He breathes out, slow, steady, and finally lets his eyes close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CATCH ME CRYIN IN THE CLUB BYE


	20. don't beat yourself up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance pays close attention to keith; keith realizes what's happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place the day after the last chapter
> 
> idk what the ending is
> 
> also i was supposed to finish and post this yesterday but i had a killer headache so i did the smart thing and went to bed

                Lance spends the weekend paying close attention to Keith.

                Saturday morning, they wake up slowly. Lance pulls Keith against him, chest pressed to Keith’s back as he wraps steady arms around Keith’s shoulders, buries his face in the slope of Keith’s neck, kisses him there and murmurs out a _good morning_ while Keith lingers in his embrace, soaks in his touch, wraps hands around Lance’s wrists and holds on.

                Saturday afternoon, their families come up for the rest of the day, for Family Weekend. That includes Mrs. McClain, Emely and her husband and Clara and Javier, Shiro, Krolia, Shay’s mother and grandmother and Rax, Hunk’s moms, even Pidge and Matt and Allura sneak up to visit them. The group spends the day together catching up, and Lance tries not to make it obvious the way he watches Keith, the fleeting touches here and there, when he doesn’t straight-up have an arm around him.

                Saturday night, when their families leave, they spend the rest of the night together—and with their other friends, but Lance barely leaves more than five feet between himself and Keith at all times. By the time they reach their dorm again, dipping out of Saturday Late Night early, Lance has gone full koala mode. He only separates from Keith to let him shower, and showers when Keith is done.

                “Are you alright?” Keith asks, when Lance comes back, water still dripping from his hair.

                Lance blinks at him, and then nods. “Yeah.”

                Keith frowns anyway; Lance studies him, knows the gears are turning in his head as Keith drops his gaze from his fiancé to the floor. Just as he takes a step forward, Keith raises his head, rises from the bed. Lance pauses in place, as Keith cups Lance’s face, tilts it down so their eyes meet.

                “I know what you’re doing,” Keith says, his voice gentle. “I swear, I’m okay, and I trust you. You are…” He stops, takes a breath, looks away from Lance’s eyes lets his gaze wander over the rest of Lance’s face. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And you’re _good enough_. Better than enough.”

                He presses their foreheads together, while Lance’s hands settle on Keith’s hips, drawing him in closer as he shuts his eyes, lets Keith’s words flow over him.

                “Please, don’t feel like you’re not doing enough, or you’re doing something wrong. This is all on me.”

                Lance doesn’t open his eyes. Doesn’t respond right away. He lets Keith’s words sink in, processes them. Doesn’t tell Keith that no, he’s wrong, because in a way, Keith is right. It’s his thoughts, his brain, his nightmares. He just can’t control it, can’t control an anxiety built up over years. He’s _trying_ —Lance sees it every time Keith lets him in, let some of that darkness seep out. He sees the guilt every single time, the apprehension that Keith approaches him with not because he doesn’t trust Lance, but because he doesn’t want to _hurt him._

                “Okay,” Lance says, and opens his eyes. Their gazes meet again, and Lance’s squeezes Keith’s sides. “But I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

                “I’m okay,” Keith says, and smiles. “I promise, I’d tell you if I wasn’t.” His smile fades, only a little bit, as he runs a thumb across Lance’s cheekbone. “And you’d do the same. You’re okay, too.”

                “Yeah,” Lance reassures him with a half-smile of his own. “I’m okay.”

                Keith’s eyes linger on Lance’s mouth, as Keith nods, slowly, absently, and then leans in. Lance closes the distance.

                Their kiss is nowhere as desperate as the one in the Student Union last night—no rough grabbing, pulling, stumbling. They move in tandem, sinking toward the floor. Keith’s hands, arms slide around the back of Lance’s neck, while Lance winds his arms around the small of Keith’s back.

                “Don’t beat yourself up,” Lance says, when their lips part. Their faces are hardly an inch apart when he speaks, and his breath warms Keith’s face. “It’s not your fault.”

                Keith nods, and then stands up, letting go of Lance. Lance follows suit, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the TV resting on top of one of the nightstand.

                “So, now that that’s out of the way, it’s a Saturday night in October and we’ve got no obligations. Wanna watch a horror movie?”

                “Depends,” Keith answers, and leans back, bracing his arms on his bed. “Am I getting a blanket fort and cuddles out of this?”

                “I’ll even make popcorn,” Lance responds smugly.

                Keith smiles. “Then hell yeah.”

                And they get to work. Lance gets his laptop hooked up to his TV, while Keith starts constructing a blanket fort in the center of the room, ruining their bedspreads, a mess that may or may not get fixed before morning. Lance finishes faster, and sets to work on the popcorn, climbing around the mess of blankets and pillows and chairs and bedposts.

                They forget what a bad idea it is to watch a horror movie in the dark with no one around but each other until the movie ends, with Lance practically clinging to Keith’s face, and Keith’s stoic _I’m not afraid I’m a conspiracy theorist I’ve dealt with scarier this is nothing_ facade slipping.

                “So,” Keith says, as the credits roll, “you wanna be the little spoon tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do u ever just cry bc kl


	21. one step closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cheek to cheek...toe to toe...heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO U EVER JUST MISS THE DRAMA CLUB

                It’s that space in the afternoon where Keith and Lance’s free times match up; Keith hunches over his desk, poring over some textbook, while Lance sprawls out on his bed, laptop blasting musical theater as he tries and fails to focus on whatever he’s trying to read. His attention splits, between the book and the lyrics of each song that comes up, and Keith diligently tunes him down to a dull roar behind him.

                Okay, that’s a lie.

                Keith listens in quite intently, especially when songs from the _Little Mermaid_ soundtrack pop up, because that was their senior show, and Lance memorized every single word. Wasn’t hard, when he actually had to sing half of those songs, but it’s still impressive nonetheless. And endearing.

                His heart misses a beat when another song from the soundtrack starts, and Lance practically throws himself off the bed, words of the song already tumbling out of his mouth as he approaches Keith; it’s _One Step Closer_ , the same song for which Lance made Keith memorize Plax’s choreography, so he could rehearse it at his leisure.

                And sweep Keith off his feet, as he’s attempting now.

                He keeps singing the song, offering a hand to Keith as Keith sets down his pen and observes Lance. They’re both grinning, as Lance extends his hand. Keith pushes up and out of his chair and abandons his homework, sliding his hand into Lance’s.

                Lance leads them up and down the short expanse of open space in a waltz of sorts, Keith’s hand up on Lance’s shoulder, Lance’s arm around his waist. Lance sings the song enthusiastically, voice nearly on par with the voice of Prince Eric on the recording, and Keith can plainly envision him the nights of their performance, back in the spring. His hair slicked back, the makeup on his face, the crisp lines of his costume…

                _“A dance is like a conversation,”_ Lance sings, lost in the music as he twirls Keith around the room.

                Keith imagines this was much easier to do with Plax, who possesses a slighter frame than Keith does, easier for guiding, but he also knows there’s no way Lance held Plax this close. As good an actor as he is, Keith knows he didn’t possess this level of euphoria on stage, didn’t move with this sort of fluidity, try as he might’ve.

                _“Except your lips don’t ever need to part.”_

                So they might have ended up changing some of the choreography for their own purposes. Lance leans in close, close enough for his lips to brush against Keith’s, fleeting, so light it’s like he might as well not have touched him at all.

                _“And once you’ve begun, you speak as one…”_

                Lance spins Keith around and drags him back in, so Lance’s chest is pressed against Keith’s back, arms wrapped around him, hands still clasped. Keith melts against him, head tilting back in time for Lance to settle his chin on Keith’s shoulder.

                _“Cheek to cheek…”_

                He nudges Keith’s feet.

                _“Toe to toe…”_

                And spins Keith back around, until their chests are flush against each others’.

                _“Heart to heart…”_

                They go back into their waltz, stepping around the room, spinning, but never draw back from each other, as Lance sings the last verses of the song.

                _“And every little step...every single step…”_

                His one arm tightens around Keith’s waist, while his other releases Keith’s hand, only to cup his face, while Keith brings a second hand to Lance’s shoulders, strengthening his own grip.

                _“Is one step closer...one step closer...one...step...closer…”_

                They both lean forward as their gazes lock, half-lidded eyes never leaving the other.

                _“To being understood.”_

                In the show, Lance and Plaxum didn’t kiss. They got interrupted, one of the running gags of the whole thing. But here, Lance closes the distance between them. Keith reciprocates, and wonders if he should keep up the act, wonders if he should keep his hands where they are, or if he’s free to break character. Lance already has, after all.

                So he does.

                He wraps his arms around Lance’s neck and pulls him in closer to him, and when they part, it’s Keith who presses their foreheads together.

                “I miss this show,” Lance breathes out before Keith can. “It was hell when we were going through it, but God...I miss the drama club.”

                Keith nods, bangs mussing, stuck between his forehead and Lance’s. “Me too, Starboy.” He pauses, long enough to smile wistfully. “Remember when Pidge and I would dance to _Positoovity_ backstage?”

                _Positoovity,_ in the running for one of the best bops in the show. While Lance waited for his entrance for the next scene, Pidge usually snuck backstage, just to swing-dance to the song in the wings with Keith, while the actors on stage did tap. It’s one of his fonder memories of the show, when things weren’t downright chaotic.

                “And _left me out_ ,” Lance says, pouting, and Keith giggles.

                Straight-up giggles.

                Lance pretends like that sound doesn’t make him weak in the knees. Like he doesn’t want to make that sound his ringtone and then have someone call his phone twenty-four hours, seven days a week, just so he can hear it nonstop.

                “Sorry I wanted you to make your cue,” Keith says. “Next time, I promise to fuck up every last one of your entrances.”

                “You mean like you did during _Midsummer_ rehearsals? I still get war flashbacks to that ponytail, Keith,” Lance says. “It’s like, illegal to be that cute and hot at the same time. I’m _offended_ , you had the audacity to pull that off at such a critical time.”

                Lance finally pulls back slightly, turns up his nose, and Keith laughs harder, leans in. His breath tickles Lance’s neck as he trails kisses along Lance’s throat, and Lance makes a sound akin to the Windows start-up noises—but he doesn’t pull away.

                He holds on, face burning as he lets Keith continue, up to his jawline, up to the skin behind his ear.

                Keith continues along, until he gets to the corner of Lance’s mouth, and draws back. Lets go of Lance. Walks back over to his homework, until Lance grabs him around the waist, until his chest yet again against Keith’s back.

                “Uh-uh,” Lance whispers, lips brushing Keith’s ear. “You don’t just pull something like that—”

                “Sure I do,” Keith interrupts, turning until he can see Lance out of the corner of his eye. He grins.

                Lance scowls back at him. “You’re dead to me.”

                “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

                Keith grabs Lance’s wrists and pries them apart, and spins out of his grip, vaulting over his chair until he lands on the other side of it, one hand braced on the chair back, the other against his desk. Lance mirrors his pose.

                “You’re really gonna play this game, aren’t you?” he asks, raising a challenging eyebrow.

                Keith crouches lower, and then shoves the chair at Lance and runs around it, toward his bed, only for Lance to grab him by the arm at the last second and spin him around, until he hits Lance’s bed. Lance tackles him, pinning his wrists against the mattress, bending him backwards over the side.

                “You’re really dead-set on winning,” Keith says, but Lance senses the attack coming. He bats Keith’s ankle with his own, preventing his leg from swinging up and sweeping him down. Keith grunts, and tries to use his other leg, but ends up slipping halfway into a split as Lance blocks his other kick.

                “Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” Keith mutters, and Lance smirks, still pinning Keith as best he can.

                “What, you’re not as flexible as I am?” he teases, and it’s Keith’s turn to glare.

                “Not all of us were former gymnasts.”

                “Nope, not all of us were.” Lance winks, and lets them both slide further down the floor, purposely pushing Keith’s legs further apart with his feet. “But I was.”

                Keith tries to regain his footing, but it’s no use.

                “Just hand over the victory, and I’ll let you up,” Lance says evenly, and purposely nudges Keith’s foot again. Keith winces. “Also, Keith, for someone who claims to have such good survival skills—”

                “ _Shut_ the fuck up.”

                And Lance will give Keith points for trying. He’s cute, struggling to fight back, but it becomes clear this is one battle he can’t win. Finally, he flops back, hair fanning out on Lance’s comforter as he shuts his eyes and sighs.

                “Fine, you win. Do your worst.”

                So Lance does. He jumps back to full height with ease, and Keith yelps with the pressure of Lance’s legs gone. Lance yanks Keith up with him, hard enough that Keith stumbles into his chest, hands clasping Lance’s tightly. He looks up sharply, and finds their faces hardly an inch apart—and realizes he just nearly head-butted Lance in the nose.

                “Easy there, cowboy,” Lance says, smirking, watching Keith’s face turn fifty-seven shades of red.

                And he can’t even complain about it.

                Lance’s smirk doesn’t last long. It morphs into a full-on smile, as he leans in, and Keith gives up on acting indignant and returns his smile, squeezes his palms, and presses their lips together, and then it’s just the two of them, and the music blasting behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway this got way longer and slightly spicier than i intended i'm going to yeet myself into the sun now


	22. butterfly touches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lazy, hazy morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> instead of getting ahead on my latin vocab lists i spent my free time between stats and latin writing this

                Like most mornings, Keith wakes up first.

                He wakes up sweating, and glares at the window, at the hazy fog and watery sunshine outside, on a day of the week that promises to be hot, to bring back late-June temperatures in fucking _October_ , Mother Nature’s weak attempt to ruin his cuddles with Lance.

                She needs to try harder, because his arms are exactly where Keith wakes up.

                As far as he can tell, Lance is still out cold, snoring softly, completely oblivious to the alarm blasting on the nightstand. Keith reaches for his phone, stretching as far as he dares, as far as he _can_ without disturbing Lance, fumbling for the home button.

                He shuts off the alarm with a wince, and risks the glance back.

                Lance is still sleeping, pressing a smile into the back of Keith’s shoulder.

                Keith relaxes at that, even as he flicks his eyes to the screen and realizes it’s 6:30, and they have just half an hour to get ready to hit the dining hall if they wanna make it to class on time with breakfast in their stomachs.

                He has to wake Lance up.

                Lance, who’s at peace, whose worry lines are nonexistent in his slumber, who glows in the light slanting in through the window, who’s here and holding Keith and making everything right in the world just by being alive.

                Keith sighs, and rolls over, until he’s face-to-face with Lance.

                “Wake up, Starboy,” Keith whispers, running a thumb over Lance’s cheekbone. “C’mon, up and at ‘em.”

                Lance stirs, and Keith pinpoints the moment he shifts into alertness. He furrows his brow and squints as he opens his eyes, and then immediately relaxes upon laying eyes on Keith. His smile returns in full force, and he sets a hand on top of Keith’s.

                “G’morning, Starlight…”

                They each lean in. Morning kisses between them are light, butterfly touches that usually leave Keith’s heart aching. Sometimes it still scares him; his walls are gone in the mornings, leaving him completely exposed. Vulnerable. And every morning, Lance is careful with him. Gentle.

                Keith rebuilds his walls, and each day they’re just slightly thinner than the last, and there’s always a door left open for Lance.

                “We’ve gotta get going,” Keith says, when Lance pulls back. He pulls back reluctantly, slowly, savoring every taste and touch between them, while Keith stays still, still absently rubbing his thumb on Lance’s face. “Gotta get breakfast.”

                So Lance sighs, and Keith sighs for the second time, and removes his hand, and they get up. Keith rolls over and out of bed first; Lance follows suit, ambling toward the closet for something to wear, while Keith snags the clothes he set out the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance are in love send tweet


	23. warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance are soft at the end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when are they ever not soft tho

                Weeknights apart are even rarer than weekend nights apart.

                At least over the weekend, Keith and Lance have the opportunity to spend most of the day with each other. But on weekdays, classes have them separated most of the day—maybe a few moments to catch each other between classes, but for the most part, they don’t get to spend time together until the late afternoons. On the nights Keith doesn’t have a lecture after dinner.

                But tonight separates them.

                Lance has a study group at the library, for one of his prereqs for his Marine Biology major. Bored in the dorm on his own, Keith heads out to do some studying of his own, in one of the lounges down in Fine Arts, all the way across campus. They both depart for their locations after sundown; Keith starts back earlier than Lance, in the interest of safety during his longer trek in the dark.

                Lance still manages to catch sight of him on his way back to the dorm from the library.

                He’s much too far behind Keith to yell for him, especially given that Keith likely has his earbuds in, and though he notes Keith observing his surroundings, constantly looking left and right and occasionally taking a brief glance over his shoulder, he’s also too far for Keith to see. But Lance definitely sees him—he’d recognize that mullet anywhere.

                Lance lengthens his strides and speeds up his walk.

                He doesn’t break out into a full-on run, because he knows that’ll likely land him an accidental punch to the face or to the gut, depending on where Keith’s fight-or-flight (defaulting to _fight,_ as always) has him strike. He also takes note of the key clutched between Keith’s fingers, glinting in the light of a streetlamp. Not to mention, he makes a habit of never leaving without a switchblade.

                Especially if he knows he’s making a solitary walk in the dark.

                _We really need to coordinate things better,_ Lance thinks. _We probably should’ve met up somewhere._

                Next time, then.

                Lance continues down the slope of the sidewalk, into the dark shadows of the street sandwiched between the parking garage near their dorm and the construction happening on the building across the way. Keith walks through this area with tensed shoulders, and Lance has to be careful. The last thing he wants is to scare the crap out of Keith.

                He slows down when he knows he’s within seeing distance; sure enough, when Keith looks back again, the slight misstep, the jump, is plainly visible, but he relaxes almost immediately, as Lance sidles up to him, on the side he doesn’t clutch his key. Keith takes his hand out of his pocket, likely releasing a hold on his knife. Lance slides his hand in Keith’s and twines their fingers.

                “Did I scare you?” Lance asks quietly, as Keith removes his earbuds.

                “Eh,” Keith cocks his head slightly. “Maybe a little. But now I know it’s you.”

                “Yep, it’s me,” Lance says, and bumps shoulders with Keith, before he begins swinging their hands between them, and Keith lets it happen. “And I realized we probably should’ve coordinated this better.”

                Keith huffs a little laugh. “I mean, yeah, you’re probably right. Walking alone is sometimes just…” He shakes his head as if to clear the thought away, not willing to dive deeper into that topic. “But you didn’t know when your study group would get out, and I just wanted to get back to the dorm before it got really late.”

                Keith nods toward people meandering here and there. Some walking solo, like he was up until a couple minutes ago; others in clusters of two or three, laughing obscenely loudly for the hour; still, others, occupying benches, some bent over their phones, some just observing the area. Most are students; still, Keith and Lance catch the occasional glimpse of someone older—maybe grad students, maybe professors, maybe people just hanging out on campus.

                Lance squeezes Keith’s hand and hears the relieved exhale that escapes his lips.

                “So how’d things go?” Keith asks, and Lance’s face brightens as he begins regaling Keith with the tales of how his study group did more debating over whether or not sharks or whales were superior than getting actual work done, and how at one point the debate got so heated the librarian threatened to throw them out if they didn’t stop talking.

                His story lasts long enough to get them back to the front entrance of their residence hall. Keith’s the one who swipes them in, letting go of Lance’s hand to get the door open (and giving Lance a good excuse to snake an arm around Keith’s waist and pull him in closer), and they take the stairs all the way back up to their room.

                For some strange reason, the trek up four flights with his laptop weighing him down doesn’t exhaust Keith in the least.

                Keith got them into the residence hall, and Lance is the one who lets them into the dorm, one-handed, his other hand never leaving its space around Keith’s waist. When Keith shrugs his backpack off and onto a chair, Lance pulls him into a hug, settling his chin on Keith’s shoulder, while Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s neck.

                “What’s this for?” Keith mutters.

                “You’re warm,” Lance says.

                “It was almost 80 degrees today,” Keith counters.

                “That’s different.”

                “How?”

                Lance squeezes Keith tighter. “I can hold this warmth. And I can kiss it. And I can tell it how much I love it, and it can hold me back and then we can go to sleep together, and it doesn’t go away at night. This warmth is guaranteed.”

                Given the late hour, and Halloween being right around the corner, Keith’s mind crosses the morbid line into _but if I were a corpse_ territory, and he quickly backs out of there, and chooses instead to smile into Lance’s shoulder.

                “You fucking sap,” he murmurs affectionately.

                “Can’t help that I’m so in love with you,” Lance responds, and sighs dreamily, sleepily as he shuffles forward, inching them toward his bed. For once, his sigh isn’t overdramatic, and Keith’s heart stammers at the genuineness in it. “Just...everything about you...and it’s all mine.”

                If anyone else ever asks, Keith will deny the tears that spring forward. But for Lance, if Lance ever notices, he’ll confirm them, and the way they blur his vision, until he blinks and one breaks free and slides down his cheek, and he breathes out a laugh, happy, light.

                “Good thing I’m in love with _you_ ,” Keith replies, voice just about a whisper, because that’s all he can manage as his chest seizes.

                Lance sighs happily. “And so, Starboy basks in the warm glow of his Starlight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay bye time to Sleeb


	24. easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith, and lance, and some reflection on keith's part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what this is
> 
> i meant to post this last night but i fell asleep and then i spent most of today sleeping
> 
> it's been some days, pals

                When Keith was young, he longed for a meaningful relationship.

                For a long time, he didn’t count Shiro, who took him in because his parents took Keith in, and it was the right thing to do. He didn’t count Matt, because Matt was there for Shiro, and he didn’t count Pidge, because she was there because of Matt. He barely even counted Sam and Colleen, because they knew Shiro for far longer. Keith and Shiro connected to the Holts through Matt before anyone else.

                He noticed people, and he noticed relationships. Platonic, familial, romantic.

                Platonic and familial—he found them everywhere. Thought maybe he had something like that, a little bit unstable and a lot of bit broken, but still there. It took years of gentle convincing for him to finally feel like he even had a place being there, a choice instead of a burden passed from one set of unprepared hands to the next.

                Romantic—he saw those everywhere, too. Front and center in movies, TV shows, books, whether or not they had a place being there. He found them in the background. Couples of all varieties—happy, dramatic, sad, downright tragic.

                He had a hard time making _friends_ , just to begin with. Add _finding a boy_ and _finding a boy who likes me back_ was even harder.

                It never stopped him from longing and fantasizing.

                When Keith was in his early teen years, he’d visit Matt and Shiro and Allura at college, see the easy way couples on campus fell in with each other. Holding hands between classes, trading kisses in the corners of hallways and in the shadows of buildings, cuddling in lounges and dorms.

                He wanted it, ached for it.

                He didn’t think he’d ever get it.

                Keith sighs contentedly as Lance runs an absent hand through his hair, over and over, calming, soothing. The music from Late Night still pounds, echoing down from the other side of the Student Union, but it’s almost nonexistent. Keith can pretend like it is.

                He and Lance sit in one of the lounges in the Student Union, on one of the various couches spread around the room. Lance leans back, while Keith stretches his legs out over Lance’s lap, rests his head on his shoulder. Lance’s arm, meanwhile, perches on Keith’s shoulder, supporting his arm, the hand that he continues carding through Keith’s hair.

                The music tonight is louder than usual, and some event down in their basketball court generated far too many people on campus. Most people poured out of that event and into Late Night, making for a very crowded Student Union that kicked sensory overload into high gear.

                All it took was one stumble and groan, Keith reaching out for Lance to keep upright, and Lance was in action.

                “I’m here, just trust me,” Lance had whispered, and Keith trusted him, trusted him more than anyone else. Lance had taken his hand and kept squeezing, a steady beat, rhythmic pulses to draw Keith’s focus as he led them away from the food court, winding through the crowd without drawing attention and making a scene, even as Keith grew pale and sluggish.

                The temperatures of the place went down, the more the crowd thinned out, until finally Lance found a lounge where they could hardly hear the music and the air conditioning was decent, despite the cold temperatures outside.

                “I’d bring you back to the dorm, but that’s ten minutes away, and you’re going to wipe out,” Lance had said, settling onto a couch, drawing Keith into him, wrapping arms around him and holding him close.

                And since then, they haven’t moved.

                “You sure you don’t wanna go back to Late Night? I’ll be okay,” Keith had asked, once some of the color returned to his face, and he didn’t feel so much like death anymore, and Lance had shaken his head.

                “Too comfy here.”

                That was an hour and a half ago.

                “And yeah, that’s the story of the time Alejandro almost got us banned from every Walmart in the state,” Lance is murmuring now, finishing his recounting of some tale involving three knives, two fishing rods, and his niece and nephew and brother. “That’s also why Emely doesn’t let him watch her kids anymore.”

                “I’m surprised she still trusts you,” Keith mumbles, twirling one of the strings from Lance’s sweatshirt—one Keith brought up, one they share, now that their closets and dressers have practically merged into one—around his fingers.

                “I bought them candy after and told them not to tell Emely anything besides the fact that they loved me, and I was being responsible the whole time,” Lance responds, “which, y’know, isn’t totally a lie. Someone had to sweet-talk security.”

                “So now the people at Walmart know you by name.”

                “And they know my brother is reckless and not to be left alone with the hunting gear.”

                Easy, easy, easy.

                They can make the strangest of conversations look serious, intimate, and it’s all Keith’s ever wanted. To be this _comfortable_ with someone, and maybe before it could have been anyone, but not now. There’s never going to be anyone but Lance.

                Lance, who takes the time to check on him, who insists on doing so even when Keith says he’s fine (both when he’s lying and when he’s serious). Lance, as gentle as he can be rough. Lance, who would have Keith’s back even if it meant going through hell.

                “Well, that makes two of us,” Keith says, and looks at Lance, grinning. “Did I ever tell you about the time I almost got Shiro fired from Target?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm soft
> 
> also i'm aiming to update soopits in the next 48 hours, let's put that to the test


	25. when do i get to complain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance crumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my mood has been 0 since yesterday this is one giant vent i literally cannot sleep until i get this off my chest

                Lance withdrawing is usually bad on its own, because he’s loud by nature, friendly by nature, an extrovert at heart.

                Today, it’s ten times worse than usual.

                Keith knows from the moment he enters their dorm that Lance is having an awful day—when Keith gets there, Lance sits on his bed with his knees drawn up and his headphones in and a scowl on his face as he precariously balances his laptop, hard at work on some assignment.

                Lance is never productive in the afternoons, and especially not in a quiet, closed-off environment like their dorm.

                “Lance?” Keith asks, and tentatively approaches the bed.

                He stops in his tracks when Lance’s head snaps up, eyes wide, and the scowl still there. It almost _deepens_ at the sight of Keith, and Lance shrinks in on himself, further against the wall, and Keith backs off. He puts his hands up, and steps over to his desk, and grabs his laptop.

                “I’ll be in one of the study rooms,” Keith says calmly, though his heart pounds, and the memory of his nightmare last week comes back to him in pieces, blurry images and echoing dialogue. “Text me if you need me.”

                He’ll just be a few floors down, but he won’t tell Lance _come get me._ He won’t tell Lance _you know where to find me._ If Lance is holed up here, with earbuds in, even though he’s alone and has every right to blast his music, then he has no business going downstairs, fragile as he is. No business being that _vulnerable_ to wondering eyes.

                He leaves the room with one last look over his shoulder at Lance, still scrunched up, face still angry. Keith doesn’t think he’s making it up when he sees Lance shaking. Or when Lance takes a shuddering breath. Or when he screws his eyes shut and they open up wet, a little redder than before.

                Keith leaves before he sees anything else, heart in his throat.

                He spends the next hour in the study lounge. Usually, the peace and quiet and aloneness helps him to focus. Usually, he’d be done by now, but his eyes have only skimmed ten of his forty or so pages of assigned reading, and he’s retained absolutely none of it. Every few minutes, his eyes flick back to his phone, waiting for it to light up with a text from Lance.

                Even if it doesn’t light up, Keith wakes his phone up anyway, like he might’ve missed it because he looked away for a little too long.

                He hasn’t missed a thing.

                One hour stretches into two, and Keith slumps over on the table, eyes getting droopier by the second. He needs dinner, needs a post-dinner coffee to get his second wind so he can keep studying before bed.

                He must pass in and out of consciousness, as he tries to read the last few pages in front of him. Slow blinks, a few spaces where he doesn’t remember anything from the last few minutes except for darkness, his head snapping up every few seconds before he can faceplant on the table.

                More time passes than he realizes when he checks his phone again, and he rockets to his feet when he sees Lance has, in fact, texted him. Several times over, and not all of them entirely coherent.

 **starboy <3**  
i’m  osury

 **starboy <3**  
pelsse come abck

 **starboy <3**  
i ndede oyu

                Keith packs his things haphazardly, shoves them into the wrong pockets on his backpack, barely zips it closed before he slings it over one shoulder and bolts out of the room, nearly knocking over his chair in his wake. He’s careful to not slam the door shut as he runs, and heads down the hall.

                He glances down the hall branching off to the elevator, and finds the elevator’s moved up floors. Too slow.

                Keith takes the stairs, and takes them two at a time, careful not to stumble and fall. Before long, he’s back up on their floor, and flings the door open, and reminds himself to slow down and not startle Lance. It’s the last thing he needs, after all.

                He sets his bag down on his chair, more gently than he would have thirty seconds ago, and his eyes land on Lance, shivering, shaking inside of the throw blanket he’s wrapped around himself. Only his eyes peer over the top of it, and they’re much wetter before, and rimmed entirely in red, and puffy.

                “Lance,” Keith breathes out, and climbs onto the bed, stopping just short of him. He waits, waits for the okay, and gets it when Lance scoots over and collapses into Keith’s waiting arms and cries.

                Keith wraps his arms around the lump that is his fiancé and draws him in close, until Lance’s face is pressed against his chest and he soaks Keith’s shirt with his tears. Keith runs gentle fingers through Lance’s hair, presses kisses to the top of his head, rubs circles on his back. Everything Lance does for him whenever he’s losing it, he does now.

                “I-I can’t _do it,_ ” Lance chokes out. “Why do I have to-to be the strong one _all the fucking time?_ ”

                “You don’t,” Keith replies softly, though he’s not completely sure what Lance is talking about. He tightens his arms around him as a full-body shudder runs through Lance. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. Let it all out.”

                And Lance does. Between his sobs, he spills his complaints about family drama coming back to bite him, rants about the expectations weighing heavily on his shoulders, his homesickness fighting against his current desire _not_ to go home and face down his warring relatives, his uncertainty over his future, the fact that he hates feeling like this.

                Keith’s heart breaks, because he knows the feeling too well.

                “I have to keep it together because my sister’s got kids and my brothers drive my mom up the wall enough and my aunts are giving her a hard time a-and _when do I get to complain, Keith?_ When do I get to tell them that I don’t know where I’m going in the future? When do I get to tell them that _I feel like a fucking failure?_ ”

                “You’re not a failure,” Keith whispers, because he can’t manage anything more than a whisper, because now there’s a lump in _his_ throat and his voice catches and if he goes any higher it’ll break. “You’re doing the best you can, and you’re kicking ass. And you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

                Guilt—it crashes over both of them.

                Keith, because just over a week ago Lance needed to be strong for him, needed to remind him that he’s always here, and Keith tried to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, it was just Keith’s anxiety, it must have struck him and struck him deeply, must have told him he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t _doing_ enough.

                Lance, because he doesn’t want to put this burden on top of Keith, doesn’t want to put it on anyone, hates himself for shattering like this, for bottling his emotions until they exploded, when he knows he’s not supposed to do that.

                “I’m scared,” Lance admits, voice small, and Keith holds him tighter.

                “I’m scared, too,” Keith says.

                Neither knows what the future holds, if humanity will even have a future long enough to justify them being worried about this, and that in itself is worrying. Neither knows if they’ll land jobs, if they’ll be stuck in some dead-end cubicle with a 9-to-5 they despise, if they’ll ever find a career they really love.

                And Keith knows that right now, for Lance, it must run deeper.

                That terror has clung to him, wound around his bones. Whether he’ll actually make it that far, whether one day some thought will come along and he’ll be too far gone to stop himself, whether he’ll be good enough to make it that far, whether the future’s got some plot twist prepared that neither of them will be ready to handle.

                The broken pieces of Keith’s heart continue to crumble.

                “But,” Keith adds on, slow, soft, “you’re not alone. Your battles are mine, now, Starboy. Let me in.”

                Lance sniffles, and doesn’t raise his head.

                “You and me,” he mutters, muffled by virtue of his face still being pressed against Keith’s chest, but Keith hears him, hears the words Lance speaks directly over his heart, and Keith finishes, “Us against the world.”

                Keith leans back, head thudding against the wall as he continues holding onto Lance, as winds whistle through the cracked-open window, as their door wobbles on its hinges.

                “Last year, you told me something,” Keith whispers, still petting Lance’s hair. “I still think about it sometimes. You told me it’s okay to fall apart. You told me, _fall apart as often as you need to_ , because you had me. You would always be there to help piece me back together. That goes both ways.”

                Keith dips his head to press another kiss to Lance’s hair, as Lance chokes up again, before releasing a shuddery breath, huffing out another cry, taking in a deep breath.

                “You don’t need to be strong all the time, Lance.” Keith’s voice drops even lower. “You’re only human. You’re not always gonna have it together. Don’t be afraid to crumble. It’s like...like a phoenix, you know?”

                “Oh, God,” Lance mutters, voice hoarse. “You fucking nerd.”

                A smile ghosts Keith’s lips. _There he is._

                “Yep, I’m a big nerd,” Keith replies, and scoots back a little, and gets fingers underneath Lance’s chin, and tilts his head up until their gazes meet. “And I’m telling you that you’re not Hercules, and that’s okay. It’s better being a phoenix—you can always rise again from anything that brings you down. And you can do it _with help._ ”

                And maybe Lance’s frown doesn’t go away, maybe there are still tired lines under his eyes, and worry lines wrinkling his forehead, but the corners of his mouth tug up, just slightly, and it’s enough. Keith kisses Lance’s forehead, and Lance leans back into him, buries his face in the slope of his neck.

                “Everything’s gonna be okay,” Keith murmurs. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~i'mtiredofbeingtiredi'mtiredofnotknowingwherei'mgoinginlifei'mtiredofwonderingwhati'mgonnadoaftercollegei'mtiredofmyfamilyactingshittyandgettingawaywithiti'mtiredofnotbeinggoodenoughi'mtiredofbeingtoldi'mwrongevenifi'mrighti'mtiredofbeingonapedestali'mtiredofhavingtoplayeveryone'stherapisti'mtiredofbottlingeverythingupihatemyselfihatemyselfsomuchsomeonetellmewhenit'smyturntofeelokay~~
> 
> see y'all in the next one
> 
> bye


	26. no thanks needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol so i was talkin to roomie and just about half the campus had a major depressive/anxious episode between saturday and monday so uhh idk what the fuck is goin on
> 
> but anyway
> 
> emotions
> 
> gross
> 
> sorry bout that, now back to ur regularly scheduled soft bois and shitposting ~~but seriously thanks for all ur concern, i'm good now, don't know what the fuck that was~~

                The next morning is frigid.

                Keith wakes up not in Lance’s arms, but with Lance in his arms. He drained himself last night, and Keith knew, while Lance sobbed, that it would be a _Lance needs to be held_ night. Keith jetpacked; his cheek presses up against Lance’s shoulder, arms secure around Lance’s waist. Keith watches the rise and fall of Lance’s upper torso, the telltale rhythm indicating he’s still sleeping, and if they want to make it to class on time, Keith needs to wake him up.

                This, Keith has to debate over.

                His natural reaction is to urge Lance to take a mental health day, and get whatever he notes he misses from other people in his lectures. He shares most of them with Keith—Keith will take notes for him if he has to.

                But he knows it’ll only add to his anxieties, if they haven’t gone away yet.

                Decision made, Keith sighs, a heavy breath out through his nose. He lingers for a minute or two, and then tilts his head up slightly. He kisses the nape of Lance’s neck softly, a trail leading up to the skin behind Lance’s ear. At this, Lance stirs, and rolls over. Keith moves to accommodate him, and Lance ends up on his back, opening half-lidded eyes. They land on Keith, and Keith lifts a hand to Lance’s hair and pushes it out of his eyes.

                “G’morning,” Keith greets quietly, and tries for a weak smile. “We’ve gotta get up. How’re you feeling?”

                Lance shifts in bed, and Keith sits up as he does. He takes Lance’s hand and laces their fingers together, while Lance uses his other hand to card through his hair, to try and shake out some of the bedhead.

                “Better, I think,” Lance replies in a whisper. “Yesterday was just…”

                He shakes his head at the thought, and Keith’s smile deepens, becomes more sympathetic as he squeezes Lance’s hand.

                “I know,” Keith says. “Now c’mon.”

                Keith scoots away from the wall and pushes off of the bed, hand still entwined with Lance’s. Lance follows him down, and Keith only releases him so they can get dressed. The open window gives a good indication of the current temperatures—Keith and Lance swap sweatshirts, and Lance thought to bring multiple heavy jackets to campus.

                He tosses his favorite to Keith, and Keith smiles as he shrugs it on.

                In return, Keith snags his beanie from its spot on his desk. He steps up to Lance, and pulls it onto Lance’s head, carefully adjusting it, too aware of the lack of space between them. Lance watches Keith, and Keith flushes and bites his lip.

                “This is so domestic,” Lance mutters, and Keith stills.

                Smiles.

                Sighs and lets his forehead fall against Lance’s shoulder.

                “Can’t wait till you’re fixing me every day before I go to work,” Lance adds on.

                “Yeah, every single day, because…”

                Keith almost quips that he’s a human disaster, always a mess, but stops himself. That’s not what Lance needs to hear after last night.

                “Because you always need to look your best, and it’s my job to make sure of that,” Keith finishes instead, and resumes his efforts of fixing the hat, tucking a few strands of Lance’s hair under the beanie, pulling free others, until he takes a moment to study Lance, and finds everything satisfactory. “There we go.”

                Before Keith can step away and grab another hat for himself, Lance tugs Keith in by the waist, until their faces are less than an inch apart. Keith steadies himself by grabbing Lance’s biceps, and meets his eyes.

                _Can I kiss you?_ Lance asks with just a tilt of his head and a raising of his eyebrows, and Keith answers by closing that tiny gap.

                Gentle, soft, slow, and brief.

                “Thank you,” Lance whispers, when they break apart, and Keith squeezes his arms.

                “No thanks needed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> making a "musical theatre for my depression mood" playlist was apparently a good decision bc like
> 
> it's impossible to be sad when u listen to musical theatre i guESS ~~i wanna be in,,, the room where it happens IIIII I WANNA BE IN THE ROOOOM _OOHHHHH WHOA WHOAAA OHHHHH ___~~ _ ___
> 
> __~~if u want the playlist i made uhh[here u go there's no rhyme or reason to what's on it alright bye](https://open.spotify.com/user/nerdyspaceace/playlist/0TgsBkXUuQkZmuVrbvjm3q?si=-QZw9bKpSjaagzDAXOOa1A)~~ _ _


	27. i miss it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance is nostalgic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm listening to my kl playlist, which i compiled throughout the course of my senior year
> 
> may or may not be nostalgic for senior year now, and also i may or may not be crying bc wow...kl...we really could've had it all...

                The cold weather brings back specific memories for Lance.

                He nestles his face further into the scarf Keith wrestled onto him (after Lance generously tried to give it to him, because Keith hadn’t brought any up with him when they moved in, but also Lance only brought this one, and he’s only wearing it now because Keith managed to pin him to the floor and keep him there for more than five seconds, and that was the line they drew for victory), and sneaks a glance at Keith, who tries his best to seem unbothered, but shivers underneath three layers (shirt, sweatshirt, jacket) and his beanie.

                “Mother Nature j-just really had to skip over autumn, huh?” Keith chatters, and then pretends like he said it normally, like his teeth aren’t clacking together with every step they take toward the Student Union.

                The temperatures plunged between last week and now; during the day, the highs never reach anything above the mid-fifties, and at night, they go as low as the upper twenties. In the middle of _October._ Lance can recall Christmases within the last few years reaching the upper sixties and seventies—this is atrocious.

                And also rehashing too many fond memories from his senior year of high school.

                “It feels like we just got out of play rehearsal,” Lance mutters, drumming his fingers against the back of Keith’s hand.

                Despite the fact that their hands would probably be warmer shoved up into their sleeves and jammed into their pockets, they’ve intertwined them anyway. It’s a comforting weight for Lance, and he knows it’s just as much so for Keith.

                “Like...hm,” Lance goes on. “I miss it. I feel like we’re about to go to one of our cars and just sit there and defrost for a few minutes, then we’ll roast the underclassmen, and then we’ll go back to one of our houses, and then...in the morning...God…”

                Lance’s eyes sting, and it would be so easy to attribute the stinging to the cold, but Keith knows better. Squeezes Lance’s hand.

                “No, no, don’t do that,” Keith says. “No crying. Not when we’re about to be in the Student Union.”

                In truth, his pleading is to save both of their skins, because the moment Lance starts crying on his nostalgia trip is the same moment it’s all over for Keith, because he misses it, too. He doesn’t miss the certain level of uncertainty their relationship had, not even on two years yet, but he does miss the environment of their school. Misses goofing around in the auditorium with the underclassmen. Misses Lance goofing around both for the sake of goofing around and to show off Keith to everyone else.

                “I miss driving around after school and on the weekends,” Lance continues, and takes to rubbing circles on the back of Keith’s hand with his thumb as he leads them up the steps toward the Student Union side entrance. “The buffet place next to the dollar store...the sea wall…”

                “You asshole,” Keith mutters, blinking a few times to clear his misting eyes.

                “Like, it’s nice walking around with you, because I get to show you off to everyone…” Lance lets go of Keith’s hand and brings his arm around Keith’s shoulders, while Keith slips his arm around Lance’s waist. They hardly break stride, the motions second-nature. “But I miss driving around. We got to do a lot. And it was warmer.” Lance turns around, briefly, to gesture to the road they just cut across. “Like, look at that. Empty. Driving around the empty roads back home…”

                “Lance, _shut the fuck up_ ,” Keith says, and squeezes his waist this time. “I love you, but I don’t want my tears freezing to my face. And besides, we’ll have plenty of time for that when break time comes up. Thanksgiving break is in a month, and then we’ll have winter break, and that’s almost two months long.”

                Lance sighs, not unhappily. A full week for Thanksgiving break, and then just under a month later, another stretch of free time to spend with Keith. Driving around, goofing off, going back to work at Shay’s family’s café…

                “Buffalo Wild Wings dates,” Lance says, as they hit the doors to the Student Union. “And also mall dates in general.”

                “We can take Pidge shopping for junior prom,” Keith says, smiling.

                “If Allura and Shay don’t beat us to it,” Lance reminds him, tipping his chin, returning Keith’s smile.

                “Fine,” Keith concedes, and then glances up at the ceiling lights, feigning deep thought. “So then...sea wall dates. And you wanna drive around.”

                “Trips to the woods to satisfy your cryptid-hunting ass,” Lance replies.

                “Movie dates,” Keith counters.

                “Sit-down dinner in a nice restaurant, just to shake things up.”

                “Escape room, and we cut our time in half.”

                “Buzzfeed Unsolved binge nights.”

                “You know the way directly to my heart,” Keith says, and mockingly swoons, as warm air blasts them. “Also, I can one-up you: we finally do that cosplay photoshoot you wanted to do with Prince Lanceylance and the Brave Knight, which means multiple dates to plan things out, make costumes, and choose a location.”

                Lance throws an arm over his forehead and lets all of his weight flop onto Keith. Keith grunts and catches Lance as he falls backwards into his arms, one arm still hooked around his neck.

                “Shot right through the heart,” Lance proclaims dramatically, “and you’re to blame.”

                His theatrics earn the two of them looks from other people meandering about the Student Union, but neither one of them cares. Keith just shoves Lance until he’s standing upright again, and they carry on, toward the food court. On the way there, Lance takes up Keith’s hand again, and swings their arms the rest of the way there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT CRYING YOU'RE CRYING (i'm in public send help)


	28. it's rainbow road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith, lance, shay, hunk, james, ryan, nadia, and ina...and mario kart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is longer than i meant to make it
> 
> this is longer that half of the chapters in deceit so natural
> 
> also speaking of...well nvm i'll do that in the end note
> 
> **trigger warning for mildly sexual innuendos bc like...college, kids**

                Lance and Nadia made the plans for the groups to hang out, but ultimately, it came down to Keith to decide what, exactly, they’d be doing, which is how Keith finds himself in the gameroom in the Student Union surrounded by his squad and James Griffin’s squad, gathered in a giant cluster around the TV hooked up to the Wii.

                “Mario Kart Wii? Seriously?” James asks as Nadia pops the game into the console. “We’ve got a Wii U right there. Mario Kart 8’s—”

                “Don’t you _dare_ say that Mario Kart 8 is the superior game,” Hunk interjects. “Mario Kart Wii is a staple of all of our childhoods and is the only Mario Kart game for Wii we’re accepting as valid.”

                James scowls as he leans against the back of the couch Hunk sits on, along with Shay, Keith, and Lance. The four members of Keith’s squad hold Wii remotes, while Ina and Ryan look over the clipboard Nadia’s left on the couch armrest, outlining the night’s Mario Kart tournament bracket.

                “Besides,” Lance says, shifting over on the couch until he’s got his legs on either side of Keith, and his arms wrapped around Keith’s neck, “since Tuesday, it’s been the babe’s birthweek, so this was _his_ decision. And you’re lucky it was, or I would’ve had us in the food court belting Backstreet Boys.”

                He finishes his sentence and punctuates it with a kiss on Keith’s cheek, as he settles his chin on Keith’s shoulder and glances at him softly, fondly. Keith leans back into him, and Lance nestles further into the side of his neck.

                “Keith, you’ve— _aww_ , Ina, get my phone and take a picture!” Nadia says, turning around and rising from the floor as soon as the game’s in the Wii.

                Maybe at another time in his life, Keith would’ve flinched at this suggestion, and then scrambled to hide his face away from the cameras. But the past year or so has given way to Keith not giving a shit about who sees him with Lance. If they want to immortalize these moments of him in his happy place, let them.

                There will never be a universe where Keith is ashamed to be seen with Lance.

                “I’ve what?” Keith asks, face flushing. He can’t contain the grin spreading across his face as Lance holds him. He only swats Lance when he feels Lance smiling into his skin, when he feels Lance start to kiss the side of his neck in an effort to fluster him further. His swat gets a giggle bubbling out of Lance, and Keith’s heart stutters.

                “This is disgusting,” Hunk mutters, rolling his eyes.

                “You’ve got the first remote,” Nadia answers, chipper as ever. “All yours to finish setting up!”

                “Of course he’s got the first remote,” Lance says. “Number one on the track, and in my heart.”

                “Actually, if he’s got the first remote, he starts the race in 12th place,” Ina points out, as Nadia rejoins her, Ryan, and James behind the couch. James snickers, and Lance shoots a pointed look in his direction as he tightens his grip on Keith.

                “Still number one in my heart!”

                “Yeah, yeah, you sap,” Nadia says. “Now get ready for the race before Mr. _Number One In Your Heart_ kicks your ass on the track.”

                Lance sighs begrudgingly and lets go of Keith, swings around and unwraps his legs from around Keith until he’s fully facing forward. He rolls his shoulders while Keith readies himself. Hunk, appearing like he could care less about winning the race, glances over at Shay, expecting the same nonchalance, only to be met with her also rolling her shoulders and readying her fingers over the buttons on the remote.

                “Shay!”

                “Let me live, Hunk!”

                The tournament setup places the group in the Mushroom Cup, while James’ crew is set to start with the Shell Cup. Keith’s group will continue on through with the top row of cups, eliminating one person in each round until they reach the Special Cup, while James’ squad will go through all of the cups on the bottom row. When the last two people remain, they’ll battle it out in the Special Cup, with the Lightning Cup to serve as a tiebreaker if need be.

                “I don’t want anyone going easy or throwing races just because it’s my birthweek,” Keith says, with a pointed look at Lance.

                Lance smirks in his direction. “Of course not, Mullet. Gonna make you eat my dust!”

                He makes his point by wiggling his eyebrows and winking. Keith groans, and makes like he wants to scoot over, only to be met with Hunk at his right. He sighs overdramatically, and Lance clutches his chest.

                “I see how it is, Mulletman! Fine!”

                Lance shakes his head, still smiling as he and Keith both settle down and steel themselves for the race starting. Of the four people playing, Lance is the only one who misses the starting boost by a fraction of a second, and his kart gets stuck while the others speed down the track.

                “Eating your dust, sure!” Keith says, purposely knocking into Lance’s shoulder as he goes into a turn. Lance shoves him back, and Keith makes a point of staying pressed against him even when Lance tries to pull back.

                This moment of distraction allows Hunk to nail Keith and send him from first to fourth place in a matter of seconds. Keith gasps indignantly, and trades quick glances with Lance. An unspoken agreement passes between them, and they both duck their heads, suddenly hyper-focused.

                “Did anyone else just see that?” Ryan mutters, looking between his circle of friends.

                “Oh, yeah,” Nadia says, grinning devilishly.

                “Oh, yeah,” James says at the same time, with a tone much closer to _dead inside._

                Hunk soon regrets his decision to throw a green shell at Keith. Keith and Lance make a point to target him more than any of the CPU characters, while Shay stays away from them, perfectly content to stay in her own lane and creep closer and closer to first place.

                “What happened to not throwing races?!” Hunk demands, as Lance rams into his kart and sends him careening into the grass—unfortunate for Hunk, because his bike sucks offroad.

                “We said no throwing races to specifically make Keith win,” Lance answers.

                “Never said anything about preventing someone else from winning,” Keith adds on.

                Hunk groans.

                By the end of the Mushroom Cup, Hunk’s knocked out of the tournament—between the four of them, plus the eight CPU players, Keith places first, Lance third, Shay fourth, and Hunk eighth, thanks to a particularly nasty setback after Lance ran him over with a star powerup.

                “You are all awful people,” Hunk declares, as the group rises from the couch to swap places with James’ crew.

                “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lance says as he saunters over to behind the couch. He slings his arm back around Keith’s shoulders, while Keith settles one around Lance’s waist. “As far as I’m concerned, absolutely no rules were broken. We were just playing the game.”

                “I still don’t know why we ever agreed to put the settings on aggressive,” Hunk grumbles.

                “Makes life more interesting!” Nadia says without looking back.

                James’ crew is busy on the character selection screen. James chooses Donkey Kong, while Ryan picks Luigi, Ina chooses Yoshi, and Nadia picks Toadette—very different from Keith’s choice of Baby Mario, Lance’s pick of Waluigi, Hunk’s choosing of King Boo, and Shay’s choice of Daisy.

                Keith pays little attention to the ensuing disaster that is the group’s play of the Shell Cup. Instead, he focuses on the feel of Lance holding him, a shield against the air conditioning in the room, a comforting weight against him.

                “You know this alliance is all off once we knock Shay out,” Lance leans over and whispers, during one section of Yoshi Falls where Nadia and James get into a shouting match, after Nadia shoves James right off the track.

                “Didn’t expect anything else,” Keith responds. He kisses Lance’s cheek and adds, “Just don’t be surprised when I kick your ass.”

                “Pff, you can try,” Lance responds, and they resume watching the races unfolding in front of them.

                Or at least, resume watching as much as they can. When they’re not distracted by Keith’s hand sliding under Lance’s shirt to rub circles into the skin at his hip, or Lance placing a hand on the side of Keith’s head, or Keith’s head leaning on Lance’s shoulder as Lance strokes his hair.

                By the end of the cup, Nadia comes out in first place by a point, with James in second. Ryan manages to secure fourth, and Ina fifth by two points. She shrugs as the group gets up and lets the others have the couch back for the Flower Cup.

                Hunk sits this one out, squinting as he analyzes the races happening in front of him. The pattern of Lance and Keith ganging up on Shay whenever she climbs up near their ranks is obvious, and by the end of it all, Lance slides into first just an inch ahead of Keith, and Shay shouts as she grabs third, after being slammed into a fake item box.

                “Are you _for real?!_ ”

                “Don’t hate the players, hate the game!” Lance shouts back at her, as he and Keith high-five.

                “We’re having a rematch tomorrow,” Shay declares then, because she knows they won’t get the time tonight, with several more cups to go through, and other people undoubtedly wanting to use the Wii before the gameroom closes.

                The group gets up and lets James’ group take the couch again. While they get started with the Banana Cup, Lance takes his phone out, opens Snapchat, and starts a video. He slowly moves in a circle, starting with a shot of Hunk at his left, Shay at Hunk’s side, and then panning over to the couch and TV, and the backs of James, Ryan, Nadia, and Ina’s heads. The video ends with Keith, smirking, eyebrows knitted.

                “Welcome to Late Night,” Lance says, “Mario Kart Wii edition!”

                He flips the camera around and drags Keith into him, and kisses the side of Keith’s head. “Ya boys are taking first place!”

                “Only one of you can win!” James interjects right after Lance ends the video.

                Lance sticks his tongue out in James’ direction as he uploads the video to his snap story, earning laughter from Keith. He ducks his head, and Lance laughs with him, and pulls him even closer. He makes like he’s hugging Keith, and brings his lips close to Keith’s ear.

                “You doin’ okay?”

                Keith’s heart melts in that instant. He’s gotten lost enough in the fun and chaos to forget that he’s out in public, has gotten lost enough to forget about the other noises in the gameroom, and the music thumping from the food court—but Lance hasn’t. Lance has kept tabs.

                Keith keeps laughing, and returns Lance’s hug, returns his gesture. “Yeah, I’m good.”

                “Good.”

                They fall into easy silence with each other while the others shout. James and Nadia resort to throwing elbows in the final seconds of their last race, as James snatches first and Nadia brings up second. Ryan groans as he comes in third place, running a hand through his hair.

                “I should’ve expected this,” he says, when the groups swap places again.

                “I feel that,” Hunk agrees, glancing over as Lance and Keith ready themselves to go through the Star Cup against each other.

                “May the better racer win,” Keith says, sticking out a hand for Lance to shake. Lance takes his hand and then pulls Keith in and presses their lips together, eliciting groans from every other member of their group.

                Keith flushes when Lance pulls back. “You ass—”

                Lance winks, and turns back to the TV, and Keith shakes his head like it’ll make him any less distracted. And it works, as he refocuses on the game.

                He shows no mercy, and neither does Lance.

                “Is that a fucking blue shell?” Keith shouts at one point, when he’s got a slight lead over everyone else, leaving Lance to bring up second. He can’t hear the noise on the TV, or through his remote—not above the shouting going on around them and among them.

                “I dunno!” Lance shouts cheekily, and Keith cuts his eyes down to Lance’s screen, as a blue shell streaks overhead and barrels directly for Keith.

                Normally, his tactic would be to slow down and catch Lance in the explosion with him, but if he slows down now, he still won’t catch Lance, he’ll only be handing the race over to him. So he keeps at his pace, and then realizes there’s a cannon within his grasp. He whoops as his kart hits the cannon seconds before the blue shell reaches him, and Lance shrieks.

                “No! _No!_ You motherfucker—!”

                Lance’s next powerup comes in the form of a trio of red shells, spinning around Waluigi. He sends the first one and destroys the single banana Keith’s been hanging onto as a shield, and sends his second red shell in after. It nails Baby Mario’s bike and sends him flipping through the air, giving Lance the window he needs to catch up. He slams into Keith’s character and sends Keith skidding over five feet.

                “Bastard,” Keith breathes out, fumbling to regain control of his character.

                Lance swings a leg over Keith’s criss-crossed ones in an effort to deter him further. Keith kicks out with one foot and shoves Lance’s leg away, and then continues to push Lance with his feet as he continues speeding down the track. Baby Mario comes up right behind Waluigi, falling to second by a point. They have one race left.

                “Feelin’ the heat yet?” Lance asks, deliberately leaning into Keith’s space.

                He neglects the fact that Keith has the first remote, and the ability to skip over the cutscene panning out over the track. He does just that while he locks gazes with Lance, fully aware of what’s happening on the screen as he presses their mouths together, earning more gagging from the others around them.

                “I hate hanging out with you two,” James grumbles from behind them.

                Keith pulls away just as the third beep goes off, and his character speeds down the track, leaving Lance’s in the dust. Lance gasps indignantly and scrambles to get Waluigi moving, as another laugh erupts from Keith.

                “Eat my ass, McClain!”

                “I mean—”

                “Don’t even finish that sentence!” Hunk interrupts.

                Lance shoots a glare in his direction, and then focuses back on the race, but by then, it’s a lost cause. Keith drives with expertise, cutting tight turns and flying into first place after a close call with one of the CPUs and a green shell, and Lance falls to third, and second overall.

                “Yes!” Keith shouts, pumping fists in the air, at the same time that Lance shrieks “ _NO!_ ” and flings himself into Keith’s lap in feigned anguish.

                He blindly bats at Keith’s face, until his hand finds Keith’s mouth, and he presses a palm over it. “Shut—shut your mouth—”

                Keith grunts and pushes Lance off of him, as the group gets up to let James, Nadia, Ryan, and Ina have the couch again. Lance drapes himself over Keith as they walk to the space behind the couch, Keith practically dragging him along.

                “You _traitorrrrrrr_ ,” Lance whines. “That race was supposed to be _miiiiiiiiine._ ”

                “Tragic,” Keith says. “Maybe if you’d been paying better attention.”

                “Maybe if I’d had more incentive,” Lance replies teasingly, and resumes his earlier efforts of flustering Keith.

                “No, no,” Keith says, gently pushing Lance’s head away, and Lance pouts. “Here, how about we make the last match interesting?”

                He looks at the others, and sees Hunk and Shay sighing and turning away, while the others remain too preoccupied with watching James go up against Nadia. Then he looks back at Lance and drops his voice.

                “I win against whoever wins this round, we go back to the dorm and do whatever I want. I lose, we get to do whatever _you_ wanna do,” Keith says.

                Even as he makes the proposition, his cheeks further heat up. Lance smirks up at him.

                “You’re gonna regret that, Kogane.”

                “You know we can still hear _everything,_ right?” Ryan pipes up quietly, and sends the others into a sudden bout of laughter. Keith groans, and buries his face in Lance’s neck, while Lance just holds the back of his head, and brings another arm around Keith’s back.

                “What about it?” he shoots back. “I LOVE KEITH KO—”

                Keith slaps a hand over Lance’s mouth, and the others laugh even harder.

                “Finally, justice,” James deadpans.

                Keith raises his head and meets Lance’s eyes. Lance raises his eyebrows, and with a sigh, Keith removes his hand.

                “ _I LOVE KEITH KOGANE!_ ”

                Keith ducks back down again, as a few other people in the gameroom glance in their direction.

                “I’m not with you two,” Hunk says.

                “Neither am I,” Ryan agrees.

                “Never was to begin with,” James mutters.

                “Party-poopers!” Nadia chides, her kart slamming into James’ and sending him skidding off the track and into the water on DK’s Jungle Parkway. “Learn to love!”

                “This is...unfortunate,” Ina responds. “I was also going to say I’m not with them.”

                Shay snorts and reaches over to high-five her. “Me too.”

                “Heathens, all of you,” Lance says, shaking his head. “During Keith’s _birthweek,_ no less.”

                “Alright, Trina Vega,” Nadia says.

                “I swear to God we’ve been over that before,” Hunk says, looking between, Keith, Lance, and Shay, and Keith nods solemnly.

                “It was Shiro.”

                “Shiro’s still dead to me for that,” Lance says, releasing Keith so Keith can readjust against him. He wraps arms around Lance’s waist and keeps his head on Lance’s shoulder, and Lance keeps his arm around Keith’s back.

                The group returns their attention to the race only when Nadia and James both start shrieking. James gets his revenge from earlier, and knocks Nadia’s character off the track just under half a minute away from the finish line. He zooms into first, and begins the final race with a three-point lead, a lead that quickly widens to five by the end.

                “Fuck you!” Nadia shouts.

                James crosses his arms and leans back into the couch, and looks back at Keith.

                “Looks like it’s you and me.”

                Like Keith expected anything different.

                He makes his way around the couch as Ina, Nadia, and Ryan get up, and sits down next to James. Lance immediately crashes on the couch next to Keith.

                “What are you doing?” Keith hisses, as Lance pulls Keith into him, until he’s got his arms and legs wrapped around Keith again.

                “I’m debating whether or not I want you to win, so let me decide in the most convenient position possible,” Lance answers, settling his chin on Keith’s shoulder.

                “I need to win,” Keith responds.

                “No you don’t,” James mutters.

                Keith looks at Lance again, pleadingly. “If I win, we go 50-50 with who gets to decide what we do?”

                Lance holds his gaze for a moment longer before grinning with narrowed eyes. “Let’s do it.”

                And Keith dives into the race against James.

                Truth be told, Keith is practically an expert at these courses. The Special Cup is his favorite, and he holds title in his friend group for being the champion on Rainbow Road—even against the Holts, the biggest gamers he knows, aside from Lance.

                James is fair competition, but even with Lance being infuriatingly affectionate, Keith’s got this in the bag. He snags first on Dry Dry Ruins and narrowly manages the victory on Moonview Highway. Lance’s arms drop from Keith’s neck to his waist and hold him tightly in the middle of Bowser’s Castle, and Keith’s stomach leaps.

                He drives right into a fireball, and James knocks him to the edge of the track while he’s down.

                Keith’s character teeters for a moment but never falls. Keith grits his teeth and regains control as the third lap begins. A blue shell zips overhead, and James tries to slow down to catch Keith in it, but Keith evades at the last second, winding around James as he explodes in a blue fireball.

                “Asshole,” James mutters.

                “Takes one to know one,” Keith grits out.

                “C’mon, babe,” Lance whispers, squeezing Keith tighter as he draws closer and closer to the finish line. Keith misses a row of item boxes and swears, while James snags an item. Red shells.

                “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—”

                “Eat shell, Kogane!”

                Keith breaks through another group of item boxes when James throws the first shell. It shatters against a wall as Keith cuts a hard turn, box in the corner still cycling through possible powerups. James curses, and sends another. This one gets blown to pieces by a lava jet as Keith draws closer and closer to the finish.

                “C’mon, c’mon!” Lance shouts.

                James sends out his third shell, and Keith’s remote beeps out a warning as he equips a banana at the very last second. The shell shatters against it, and Keith breezes past the finish.

                A nine-point lead, as he pulls first for the third time, and James brings up second.

                “There’s no way you can pull this off, bro,” Nadia says sympathetically, patting James’ arm as they go on to the final race. “Concede defeat now, Griffin.”

                “No, I can do this,” James says. “It’s Rainbow Road.”

                The responding laughter is almost immediate. Hunk doubles over, and Lance buries his face in Keith’s neck to smother his shrieking, while Shay shoves her face into the couch and pounds the cushion with a fist.

                “I can’t—holy shit— _it’s Rainbow Road_ ,” Hunk mimics, while Lance breaks down shaking, failing to contain himself. Keith tries to pretend like it’s not tickling him as the race starts, and he shoots down the track. James speeds by him, making a swipe at him as he tries to crash their karts together.

                He fails, and nearly sends himself flying off the track.

                Keith uses the opportunity to speed up and slide back into first as he sails over the first jump, shaking his remote and tricking out before he comes back down on a speed boost.

                The race is practically over before it even begins.

                Keith’s lead becomes unshakeable as the gap between himself and the second-place player—a CPU, and not James—widens with every passing second. James growls low in the back of his throat several times, as he comes close to redemption, but then falls back not even a second later.

                Keith’s friend group explodes in cheers the minute he crosses the finish line and ends the cup with a perfect 60, as if this thing was life or death.

                “That’s my man!” Lance shouts over everyone else, and then swipes at Keith’s face. Keith turns, and Lance grabs his face and kisses him, while James groans and buries his face in his hands.

                “You had that coming,” Ryan says quietly, patting James’ back. “Should’ve just admitted defeat.”

                The group gets up after that. Nadia was the one to sign out the game, and she’s the one to return it to the counter at the exit, along with all four remotes.

                “Alright, well, that was fun, but a girl’s tired and wants to do stuff tomorrow and be _productive_ for once,” Nadia says, with air quotes around _productive_ , “so I think it’s time for me to turn in.”

                Ina slides her hand into Nadia’s. “I’ll be going with her.”

                Ryan shrugs. “I’ll be going back, too.”

                James looks at the others. “Hunk, I’ll be in the dorm.”

                With that, he walks off, surrounded by his group of friends, Nadia’s teasing loud, even for the Student Union.

                “I think I’m going to bed, too,” Keith says. “It’s late.”

                “I’m going with him!” Lance declares, and leaps. Keith yelps and catches Lance bridal-style in his arms, and narrowly avoids dropping him only because Lance throws arms around his neck.

                Shay sighs. “Of course.”

                Hunk shrugs. “Alright. We’ll probably be out a little longer.” He flicks his eyes to James and company, rolling his eyes. “Probably good to let James’ ego recover. It’s even worse than Lance’s.”

                “See, racing with him stressed him out,” Lance says, pointing in James’ direction. “Keith looked more ready for murder than to play Mario Kart. _I_ am the superior competition, because at least Keith has _fun_ with me.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “And we might go have—”

                “I hate you,” Hunk interrupts.

                “You _love_ me,” Lance retorts, pointing a finger in Hunk’s direction. “I am a _gift._ ”

                “Yeah, yeah, go let Keith unwrap you,” Shay says, and then her eyes widen. “Wait—”

                “ _Shay, why?_ ” Keith moans, while Lance throws his head back and laughs.

                “Good night, heathens!” Hunk says, and spins on his heel, and walks away from the group with two middle fingers over his shoulder.

                “Good night, bitch!” Lance yells back, and Shay sighs.

                “Guess I’ll be joining him. Good night, please don’t subject your floormates to anything super awful.”

                “What kind of people do you take us for, oh my _God_ —”

                “Hush, just let her think what she wants,” Lance says. “Onward, Brave Knight! To the castle!”

                “It’s a dorm, I’m not exactly calling it a castle—”

                “To the dungeon!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this was longer than half the chapters in deceit so natural
> 
> if u haven't read it ~~coughcoughcoughkcoughcoughhcoughcoughcoughicoughcoughacough~~ then u totally should bc like,,, it could technically qualify as a fix-it fic
> 
> just like soopits, dsn is set after s3!! except i wrote dsn...before s3 dropped...so like...events are wrong...and also i didn't know allura's a Teen...or that shiro's Gay...BUT LIKE...IT WAS MY FIRST VLD FIC IT'S MY PRIDE AND JOY AND A LOT OF PEOPLE LIKED IT SO UHH IDK IF U LIKE KL BEING ESTABLISHED FAIRLY EARLY AND WORKING AS A GOOD TEAM AND ALSO U LIKE TEAM VOLTRON HAVING MEANINGFUL INTERACTIONS AND HUNK GETTING PAGE TIME UHHH GO READ IT??
> 
> [here it is fuckers](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406)
> 
> also i don't know when the next soopits update will be, i'm hashtag struggling with chapter 6
> 
> okay bye


	29. happy birthday, my starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of angst (and completely more than i intended, because i intended none) and a bit of fluff on the morning of keith's 19th birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made myself cry with one of the lines, guess which one it was (did i mention i'm in public)

                Keith wakes up to warm arms and a soft voice.

                “ _Happy birthday to you...happy birthday to you…_ ”

                Hot breath tickles the hair on the back of Keith’s neck, and steady arms tighten around his waist. A chin settles onto his shoulder, and kisses dot the slope of his neck, while the song continues between each one.

                “ _Happy birthday...my starliiiiight…_ ”

                There’s a tug on his waist, the body behind him scooching closer to the wall. Keith rolls onto his back and meets Lance’s sleepy, happy gaze, as Lance leans down again to kiss his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose.

                “ _Happy...birthday...to...you…_ ”

                He finishes by pressing his lips against Keith’s. He means it to be a peck, and starts to draw back when Keith winds arms around Lance’s neck and pulls him down on top of him, and brings their mouths back together.

                They take it slow; Keith lets himself savor the feeling of Lance pressed against him, arms around him, an anchor to steady the rocking of his boat in an endless sea.

                “Happy birthday,” Lance repeats when their lips part, and he touches Keith’s forehead with his own. “Also, I hope your schedule tonight is clear. And also your schedule on Saturday.”

                In his half-alert state, Keith has no emotional barrier up. His entire face scrunches, and Lance’s face lights up at the sight of it, heart twisting.

                “What?”

                “I have things planned. Just keep your schedule clear and don’t worry about it.”

                Lance kisses the tip of Keith’s nose again, and then lets go of him, pushes up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, and makes the short jump to the floor. Keith sits up and stares after him, scrubbing one hand over his sleep-crusted eyes.

                “You know, every time you tell me not to worry about something, I suddenly have the urge to worry about it ten times more than I would have to begin with,” Keith says pointedly, and throws the covers from his legs. “Also, if this is some surprise...you already surprised me last year. You don’t need to do it again. It’s just nineteen.”

                “Buh—wha— _just nineteen?!_ ” Lance practically screeches, and Keith winces, casting a look at their thin walls. Undoubtedly, the people in the dorm next door heard that.

                “Yeah,” Keith says, getting to his own feet, heading for the clothes he left on his chair the night before. “I’m not becoming a young adult, I’m not hitting two decades, I’m not becoming a full-fledged adult...I dunno. Nineteen’s not special. Just an in-between year.”

                Lance places himself between Keith and the chair as Keith goes on, throwing his arms up at each side. Keith stops before him and tips his chin, silently commanding Lance to get out of his way. Lance does no such thing.

                “Nineteen might not have any _new_ stuff attached to it, but it’s still important!” Lance insists. “It’s your last year of being a teenager, but you get a bunch of adult perks! It’s...kinda like your last super carefree year, y’know?”

                His voice drops, as he thinks back on the past year, and realizes that Keith’s life hasn’t been the most carefree to begin with. He swallows, and sets his hands on Keith’s shoulders, and squeezes lightly. “It’s also another year of you being alive. And that’s more special than anything.”

                The tears spring to Keith’s eyes before he can stop them; it’s a near-automatic response, as he stares at Lance, and his mind pulls in several different directions and none of them are the path that connect his brain to his mouth. It opens and closes a few times, and Keith fails to muster up a response to that, something so fucking _genuine_ that his chest aches and the stinging in his eyes burns and reaches a tipping point.

                “Oh shit,” Lance mutters. “Oh _shit,_ no, you are _not_ crying on your birthday—”

                He throws his arms around Keith, one hand cradling his head, the other around his back. Keith stumbles into his embrace and latches onto him tightly. His swallows the lump building in his throat and blinks furiously, because those sort of statements shouldn’t be able to break him so easily. _You’re just not fully awake yet—_

                And while Keith composes himself, Lance puts a lid on his rage.

                He doesn’t understand it sometimes, how people in Keith’s past could have hurt him so badly and then carried on with their lives, while he’s here, crumbling at just one person appreciating his existence, being thankful for his being around.

                He knows the stories—his mom leaving, his father dying, his aunt and uncle dying, the chaotic first years with Shiro, the efforts from the Holts and Alteas to help their fractured family. And yet, he still can’t fathom it, still can’t piece together at which point something in Keith shattered, irreparable—or at least, unable to be as whole as it once was.

                The piece of him that can’t process someone willing to love him with every last fiber of their being.

                It’s there, in the darkness of the early morning, in the middle of their cramped dorm, that Lance renews the vows he’s been making to himself for over two years, that he’s never letting this boy go, and never letting him go unloved.

                “You good?” Lance murmurs after a few minutes of standing around, eating into the time they have to get ready and go to the dining hall before their 8 AM.

                Keith nods, and pulls back. He doesn’t drag an arm over his face, doesn’t sniffle. He meets Lance’s eyes again, and even with the dimness, they’re big and bright and swirling with a thousand different emotions.

                _You’re so special, you have no idea,_ Lance thinks.

                “We’ve gotta get ready,” Keith says in a clear voice. “Gonna be late, and if it’s my birthday, I don’t need my professors irritated that I’m walking into class ten minutes after the lecture’s started.”

                Lance laughs at that, and the tension in the room dissolves. They get moving again, get dressed, throw their jackets at each other. While Keith shrugs on Lance’s, Lance decides that olive green looks fantastic on Keith, and while Lance pulls on Keith’s, Keith decides that red is a good look for Lance.

                “So, you gonna tell me what tonight and Saturday are all about, or are you gonna really make me wait?” Keith asks, slinging his backpack on.

                Ten minutes ago, keeping it a secret seemed like a good idea, but now...Keith deserves something to look forward to, something to keep him happy the rest of the week. But still slightly intrigued. _Freaking conspiracy theorist._

                Lance loves him.

                “So, going off-campus tonight would be really chaotic, even though—oh, wow, next Wednesday, also keep your schedule clear, I’ll tell you about _that_ later—even though we’re only half an hour away. It’s just not feasible when we could do something bigger later. But Hunk, Shay, and I _might_ have something planned for you tonight. As for Saturday, well...you _might_ wanna pack some clothes for the weekend.”

                Keith stills.

                Lance watches the hope dawn on his face like a sunrise.

                “Home? For the weekend?”

                Neither of them have been home since the semester started, though their families did come up a couple weeks ago to visit, and realistically, they could text someone for a ride home any day of the week. But they’ve held out, up to now.

                Lance nods. “Gotta see your family at some point, right? First birthday all together? Can’t let you miss that.”

                It’s the second time Keith’s eyes well up with tears in fifteen minutes.

                He flings himself at Lance, a high jump that has his arms around Lance’s neck and his legs around Lance’s waist, Lance bracing his hands beneath Keith’s thighs, his back hitting the wall to keep them steady. Keith yanks him into another kiss, a little rougher than before. Lance returns it in earnest.

                “I didn’t...I didn’t even think about going home,” Keith whispers, when he pulls back.

                Lance’s heart cracks just a little bit more.

                “Well, that’s where we’re going this weekend,” Lance says. “Whole gang. But you don’t get to know what we’re doing when we get there. You just get to know that that’s where we’re going. Gotta leave _some_ surprises, you nosy heathen.”

                For emphasis, Lance rubs his nose against Keith’s.

                “Oh my God, stop,” Keith laughs. “You’re a nerd, that’s it.”

                “And so are you!” Lance shoots back. “You enjoyed that! Own up, Kogane!”

                “Nope!”

                Keith wiggles out of Lance’s grasp until Lance drops him. He takes up his backpack again, and Lance grabs his. They lace hands as they step out of their dorm, Lance rubbing circles on the back of Keith’s hand with his thumb.

                “Are you sure you can’t tell me what we’re doing tonight?”

                “You can snoop it out for yourself, but you’re getting nothing out of me.”

                Keith grins, eyes narrowing. They twinkle with the same competitive glint Lance fell in love with just a couple years ago, and his heart stutters.

                “Challenge accepted, Starboy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> earlier i got embarrassed over something and my face got so hot that my glasses literally started fogging up
> 
> anyway
> 
> a stuttering, cracking, breaking heart? lance u might wanna get that checked out, sounds like u have a...love bug (haha medical humor am i a scientist yet) 
> 
> also anyway
> 
> i love They


	30. we get to stalk your people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith's birthday gift, part 1.   
> takes place at the end of the day in the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna post last night but a bitch went to bed bc she had an 8 AM

                “Y’know it would be easier to just let him walk the whole way, right?”

                “Hush, Hunk. I already told him we had something planned. He’s not allowed to know _what_.”

                “Okay, but the blindfold is overkill.”

                So maybe it looks a little strange to the students they pass, to see Hunk, Shay, and Lance walking along the sidewalks weaving through the science buildings, thinning out as they get closer and closer to the buildings specifically for the agricultural classes, while Lance carries Keith—a blindfolded Keith, at that—piggyback-style.

                “The blindfold is overkill,” Keith agrees.

                “No it’s not,” Lance argues. “Everyone knows _your sneaky ass_ would be opening your eyes every two seconds trying to piece together where we’re going.”

                “It’d be the safer option,” Keith says, feigning thoughtfulness. “As it is, there’s no evidence against this being a plan to sacrifice me in a cult ritual.”

                Even still, Keith seems perfectly content to let Lance carry him along, like he has been for the last twenty minutes the group’s been walking. He holds on with arms around Lance’s neck, legs around Lance’s waist, not unlike this morning. He settles his chin on Lance’s shoulder, feels Lance purposely bump their heads together every so often.

                “Oh darn, you caught us,” Shay says, and Hunk snorts.

                “Case in point,” Keith replies, and Lance scoffs, readjusting his grip on Keith.

                “Just shut up and trust me, Mullet.” He bumps heads with Keith again, and bites his tongue to keep from adding on, _You know I’d never hurt you._ Because Keith already knows.

                Keith squeezes Lance just a little tighter.

                “I always trust you,” he mutters, so quietly Lance almost misses it, but he doesn’t. He hears it and squeaks, and for once, Hunk and Shay don’t groan and call them out. They trade knowing glances, and Lance ignores both of them.

                “Good. So trust me on this, too. Besides, if this was us trying to sacrifice you, you would put up a fight, and three-on-one odds suck. We’d need at least ten people,” Lance says.

                “ _Aaaaand_ you killed it,” Keith grumbles, and Lance laughs.

                The rest of the trek to their destination carries out in relative silence. They’re surrounded by nothing but the sounds of cars rumbling along the road, of students talking to each other as they go about their merry ways, sounds that grow more distant the further they go.

                “Where _are we?_ ” Keith whispers when they’re nearly there.

                “You’ll see,” Lance replies. “Just a few more minutes. I promise.”

                “I’d be wondering less about how long we have to go and more about how Lance has carried you this far without complaining,” Shay says, and Keith yelps and clings tighter to Lance as Lance suddenly whirls around.

                “I’ll have you know, I’m training for the apocalypse,” Lance answers, and Hunk chokes on his ensuing laughter.

                “You’re _what_ now?”

                “You heard me!” Lance responds. “If the apocalypse starts, and for one reason or another all we can do is walk from place to place, and he were to get _hurt,_ I wouldn’t just leave him behind.”

                “Even if you’re surrounded by zombies and you could save yourself by leaving me behind?” Keith mutters, and when Lance peers at him, the fucker is _grinning._

                “If zombies try to take you from me, you and I aren’t the ones ending up dead,” Lance replies sharply.

                “Aw, goals,” Shay says sarcastically.

                “ _Plus_ ,” Lance adds, “I would _never_ complain about him.”

                Hunk snorts. “ _Never_ , huh? _Freshman year of high school_ Lance has some news for you, buddy.”

                Shay and Keith laugh, while Lance scoffs again, and the group falls back into silence. Wind replaces the noises of campus nightlife, as the quartet heads up an incline that makes Keith tighten his arms around Lance again.

                “Little bit more,” Lance murmurs, and readjusts Keith again.

                _A little bit more_ translates into about another five minutes, until finally, Lance releases a breath. “Alright, we’re here. I’m gonna put you down now.”

                Slowly, he releases Keith, hands still hovering near him to catch him in case he falls. After all, he’s been on Lance’s back for half an hour, and he’s still got his blindfold on. Luckily, though, Keith lands solidly on both feet, and rights himself without assistance. Hunk and Shay trade relieved looks of their own, and get to laying out the blankets they’ve been carrying.

                “Can I take this off now?” Keith asks, gesturing to the cloth tied over his eyes.

                “Not yet,” Lance responds, watching Hunk and Shay. “Almost.”

                “ _Laaaance_ , come _on_.”

                “Patience, young padawan,” Lance responds, and reaches a hand out to cup Keith’s cheek.

                In the cold, Lance’s hand is a flame, and Keith leans into its warmth, cups his own hand over it.

                “Can I kiss you?” Lance whispers, and Keith nods.

                Lance brings his other hand to Keith’s other cheek and cups his whole face. Keith holds onto Lance’s wrists as Lance closes the distance.

                “Alright, we’re all— _for real?!_ ”

                Hunk groans as he watches Keith and Lance abruptly pull apart, both heads swiveling in his direction, though Lance is the only one who can see him.

                “We were having a moment, excuse you,” Lance says, pointing a finger at Hunk.

                Hunk rolls his eyes. “You’re never not having a moment. You can take his blindfold off now.”

                “Finally,” Keith says, while Lance walks behind him and begins undoing the knot he’d tied back in their dorm, while Keith questioned why there was suddenly cloth over his eyes, demanding to know what Lance was up to.

                The knot gives way with one last tug, and Lance slowly lifts it until it’s gone from Keith’s eyes. Keith blinks; the adjustment to the light out here isn’t that hard, since...there really isn’t any. It’s dark out, the moon high in the sky, surrounded by thousands of twinkling stars in a clear sky.

                The gang is gathered on the highest, emptiest hill on campus. Agriculture buildings dot the area far below them on one side of the hill, while the other side stretches on into a sweeping valley, fenced in to mark the campus perimeter.

                Keith spins in a slow circle, lips parted in a quiet gasp.

                He’s never been to this part of campus—one of the few parts he had yet to visit, now checked off of his list. The view steals his breath from his lungs, as he lowers his eyes from the sky to the others, and finds Hunk and Shay sitting in a nest of blankets and pillows, finds his hippo blanket and Lance’s shark blanket among them. Then he whirls on Lance.

                “You did _not_ carry me half an hour for this, I-I…”

                Lance spreads his palms and grins cheekily. “Happy birthday, Starlight. We get to stalk your people for several hours.”

                “ _Your people?_ Lance, what the fuck?” Shay asks, but Lance waves her off as he slings his arm around Keith’s shoulders and guides him to the blanket nest.

                “We also decided to give you a cuddle pile as a gift. I hope you like it, because our dumb asses forgot to change our shipping addresses, so your other gifts all got sent back home,” Lance says.

                Keith’s eyes widen.

                “You didn’t have to, this is—”

                “Up bup bup! Nope! It’s your birthday!” Lance interrupts. He sits down next to Hunk, and then tugs Keith down in the middle of the group, and pulls the blankets up at the same time that he pulls Keith between his legs, against his chest. “We’re celebrating you.”

                On either side, Hunk and Shay crowd in, and all of Keith’s protests die in the back of his throat, as warmth bleeds from each one of them, until they’re in one toasty cocoon with each other. They quiet down, breathing falling into an easy rhythm. Lance runs fingers through Keith’s hair, and presses kisses to the top of his head every so often.

                Meanwhile, Keith points out the constellations.

                He traces them with his fingers, and the others follow with their eyes, until Lance begins interrupting, and drawing his own. Hunk and Shay follow suit, conjuring up their own pictures, telling their own increasingly convoluted backstories.

                They reach a point where they’ve dissolved into nothing but sleepy, wheezy laughter. Keith wipes tears from his eyes as he clutches his stomach, the pain in his side an indicator they’ve broken him. He can’t stop laughing, and neither can the others. Every time one of them tries to say something, they break down again, and the rest of the group follows suit.

                Keith doesn’t remember the last time he laughed this hard, the last time his chest felt this light. So he savors the feeling, lets the joy pour from his lips and fill every inch of him, inside and out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hereby dedicate this to lance and anna in the discord server STOP WITH THE ANGST U MOTHERFUCKERS _LET KEITH BE HAPPY ON HIS BIRTHDAY_


	31. too much adrenaline for a wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance thinks he's being followed. on the way back to his dorm. alone. in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this isn't totally completely based on real events but i'll get to that in the end note
> 
> all u need to know for now is that when i was in a situation that i perceived as potentially dangerous my brain immediately went "u could totally get some klance outta this"

**starboy <3**  
hey can u ft

 _to_ **starboy <3**  
yeah why

                Keith’s answer arrives in the form of an incoming FaceTime call from Lance. He picks it up, and winces as Lance’s voice blasts through their empty room on full volume. It’s quiet hours, and Keith doesn’t intend on the two of them getting a noise complaint.

                _“Oh thank God,”_ Lance says by way of greeting, and Keith’s brow furrows.

                Lance’s voice is low, and his breaths come shallow. He looks like he’s moving quicker than normal, and he continually looks away from the camera, over his shoulder.

                “Lance? You...you alright?” Keith asks.

                _“Ha, so, uh, this uh...yeah, I think I might be being followed?”_

                Keith chokes. Honest-to-God chokes on his own spit, that’s how hard he gasps. On the other end, Lance winces. _“Sorry to drop that on you.”_

                “What the hell do you mean you _think_ you’re being followed?”

                _“What do you mean what do I mean? I think! I’m being! Followed!”_

                Lance’s voice has dropped to a whisper, and he glances over his shoulder again, while Keith pushes his textbook away from him and stands up, fingers already fumbling for the coat draped over the back of his chair.

                “How far are you from the dorm?” Keith asks.

                Lance huffs out another breath, with the faintest trace of nervous laughter. _“Y’know...still gotta go right down that sketchy dark space between buildings, right before the main road. That place with a ditch! A ditch that they can hide my body in if I get jumped and killed! No big deal!”_

                “Aren’t there other students around?”

                Keith slides his arms into his jacket and swipes his dorm key and student ID card from his desk. He jams them into his pocket and then grabs his phone, and has a hand on the knob when Lance’s answer comes through.

                _“I mean...yeah, and I mean...they could be another student and maybe I’m overreacting but I saw them before and—”_

                “What do you mean, you saw them before?”

                Another glance over Lance’s shoulder.

                _“So, like, I don’t know if it’s a massive case of resting bitch face or what, but this guy. In the Student Union. He was sitting at a table across from me and we made eye contact and he_ glared _like he wanted to_ murder _me and I don’t know what I did! I’ve never seen him before!”_

                Keith turns the knob, but doesn’t open the door yet.

                “And you think he’s following you?”

                _“I don’t—I mean...maybe?”_

                Part of Keith wants to tell Lance to stay in one spot, to tell him that he’ll be there in a few minutes, because he shouldn’t be that far from the dorm. The other part of Keith wants Lance to keep moving, and keep the distance between himself and the person maybe-maybe not following him.

                “Shit,” is what Keith ever-so-eloquently mutters out as he drags a hand through his hair. “Alright, I dunno if you’re paranoid or what. Do you at least see the blue lights?”

                _“Y’know how they told us you can see at least two no matter where you are on campus?”_

                “Lance, I swear to God—”

                _“Alright, jeez, just gonna tell you it’s true._ Yes, _I see the blue lights. Currently debating whether or not to test that theory that the cops can trace your route if you’re being chased down.”_

                “You don’t know for sure you’re being followed,” Keith says, and he drops his hand into his pocket again, feeling around for his switchblade. It rests against his ID card, and a certain weight comes off of Keith’s shoulders as he opens the door. “Might just be a random student. Just keep moving. I’m coming to meet you.”

                _“...Are you bringing a weapon?”_

                “Don’t worry about it.”

                _“Keith—”_

“I’m leaving the dorm now.”

                The elevator will take too long to call up; Keith jogs down the stairs, and turns the sound down on their FaceTime call so he doesn’t disturb people living on the other floors. The whole time, Lance keeps walking, keeps looking over his shoulder.

                “That guy still around?” Keith asks when he hits the door that leads outside.

                Lance glances back again and swears.

                _“Fuck. Yeah, he is. I don’t...I don’t know if he lives here or if he’s actually following me or...fuckfuckfuck—”_

                “You’re okay,” Keith murmurs reassuringly, and braces himself as he steps out into frigid night air. “I’m outside. Heading in your direction. Y’want me turn my flashlight on so you can tell it’s me?”

                _“You mean so I can tell it’s you because you’re wearing all black and blend into the night like fucking Batman?”_

                “We established last Halloween that Shiro’s Batman,” Keith counters. “I’m clearly Robin.”

                _“Put on a pair of tights and prove it, Mullet.”_

                Keith huffs out a laugh as he speed-walks, chest feeling lighter. Maybe distracting Lance is an issue when he should be exercising as much caution as possible, until they’re certain of the situation, but Lance is also relaxing.

                “You and me—” Keith starts, and Lance cuts him off.

                _“Us against the world, yeah, I know. You almost here?”_

                “I was gonna say we’re having a Target date to get Halloween costumes when we go home this weekend, but that was cute. And yeah, I think I see you? And the other dude?”

                _“That you up ahead? That white light?”_

                “Uh...lemme just…”

                Keith lifts his phone high above his head and waves it around for a few seconds, still pressing forward. The figure he guesses is Lance speeds up at the sight.

                _“That’s you.”_

                “Yep.”

                Lance breaks out into a full-on run, the distance between the two of them shortening. Keith halts just feet before Lance practically barrels him over on the edge of the crosswalk. He throws tight arms around Keith, and just as quick as the hug came, it’s gone, Lance spinning and tugging Keith back in the direction of their dorm.

                “My knight in dented armor, very glad to see you, now _let’s fucking go_.”

                Keith can see now, that Lance has him and isn’t alone anymore, that he’s skittish as fuck, and doesn’t even bother hanging up their FaceTime call as he books it for the dorm. Keith falls into step with him and tries to make it seem like they’re just a pair of college hooligans, typical freshmen.

                While they run, he risks the glance over his shoulder, and sees the other guy continue on his way.

                He can’t tell if he’s covering or not, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. Lance is holding Keith’s hand now, safe and in one piece. He doesn’t let go of Keith until they’re all the way back in their room, after hauling ass up the stairs and shutting and locking the door.

                Once he releases his death-grip on Keith’s hand, he flings himself onto his bed and completely deflates.

                “Too much adrenaline for a Wednesday, I want a refund.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so basically i was in the student union fuckin around and stuff and i'm at this one table, facing one way. the table next to mine was empty and so this guy shows up and slides into the seat facing mine at this other table and like
> 
> he seemed tense, he sat down and pulled his hood up like??? buddy we're indoors u should be taking that OFF and then i accidentally made eye contact and he fuckin glared at me, and he kEPT LOOKING AT ME 
> 
> so when i got up to go back to my dorm, i didn't see him get up at all. like i left the food court and he was still sitting there. but then i was paranoid. like what if he was just holding out for a good following distance. so THEN when i'm nearing this part of my walk back to my dorm, where it's like...there's a parking garage on my left and a building under construction on my right and next to the parking garage is a guard rail bc there's like, a ditch w storm drains
> 
> and i see this guy walking behind me and idk if it's the guy from the student union and he caught up (paranoia brain) or just some other dude just tryna get back to his dorm or car but i'm like "alright time to do the wolverine thing with ur keys and remember every method of punching someone u know"
> 
> anyway i got back to my dorm fine i'm alive this should've gone up wednesday night but a bitch was tired and slept instead of finishing but HERE IT IS NOW


	32. my favorite ice cream flavor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance get ready for a halloween party on october 30th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL HI SORRY I DISAPPEARED AND ALSO SORRY FOR THAT ONESHOT  
> i feel like i should clarify a few things from my last update  
> 1) i don't know if that guy was actually following me or if it was even the same weird guy from the student union, i'm just Paranoia Central  
> \--therefore, no, i didn't see any need to file a report  
> 2) yes, that walk between the parking garage and the under-construction physics building is sketch as fuck, i carry a swiss army knife  
> 3) even if i was in danger, we've got a blue light system. if u don't know what that is, there are dozens of posts around the campus with a blue light on them. you push a button, and a cop is supposed to show up in 90 seconds or less. word has it you can see at least two at a time no matter where you are on campus, and word also has it that if you're being chased, and hit all the lights as you're being chased, the cops can trace your route and intercept you, so yknow...there's that  
> 4) there were other students around so all i had to do was start screaming if i got attacked
> 
> that said, THANKS FOR UR CONCERN I LOVE U GUYS
> 
> HERE'S THE CHAPTER
> 
> **trigger warning for several things that may or may not be sexual innuendos**

                There’s a Halloween party just off-campus Tuesday night, and Lance convinced Keith to go the day they were standing in the middle of Party City and then various other costume shops, picking at random costume pieces to construct the beginnings of their Prince Lanceylance and Brave Knight cosplay (“Because that photoshoot’s gonna happen this winter. I’m declaring that right now,” Keith had said, perusing shiny, silver, plastic shoulderpads).

                By the time Tuesday night rolls around, Lance finds it impossible to contain his excitement. He practically bounces in his desk chair, and Keith has to press both hands on his thighs to keep him from leaping up and accidentally stabbing him in the eye with a makeup brush.

                “You are. _So._ Enthusiastic,” Keith remarks, eyes shut as Lance swipes silvery eyeshadow over his lids.

                “Uh, duh?” Lance responds, and his tongue pokes out between his lips as he adds the final touches, and then reaches for black eyeshadow. “You and I are gonna look hot as fuck. You especially. I don’t think I’m gonna be the only one who needs defending from a few dragons, if you know what I mean.”

                “I can’t even see you but I know for a fact that you’re winking and I hate it,” Keith says, and Lance laughs.

                “Didn’t wink, but okay, Mullet, whatever you wanna believe.”

                Keith huffs out an overexaggerated sigh, while Lance puts the finishing touches on his eyeshadow, and then sets to work on eyeliner. He leans into the palm Lance presses against his cheek, smile replacing his feigned frown.

                “You know what I was thinking about the other day?” Keith asks, out of the blue, and Lance raises his eyebrows.

                “What?”

                “That break we talked about last winter. Like, getting on campus and trying to meet new people.”

                Lance stills for a moment, mid-line. Stops bouncing his legs.

                “Did you...still wanna do that?” he asks with no small measure of trepidation, and Keith’s answer is almost immediate.

                “God, no, that would fucking _suck_. I’d find some way to make it even worse and then we’d both die inside. We’re not doing this whole _life_ thing without each other, Starboy.” He nods to the engagement ring on his finger and squeezes Lance’s thighs where he holds them. “You’re mine.”

                “Then why were you thinking about it?” Lance presses, and resumes doing Keith’s makeup.

                Keith shrugs lightly, so as not to disturb Lance’s careful work. “Just imagining how it might’ve gone down. Thinking about what I’d be doing right now if we actually went through with it.”

                “We’d be doing the exact same thing,” Lance says pointedly. “I love you, but you’re ridiculous if you think I would ever let that thing go on anywhere _near_ your birthday. You’re ridiculous if you think I’d ever let it go on beyond a _week_.”

                “You sure sound conf—mmh.”

                Lance kisses him on impulse. Keith’s surprise melts into satisfaction as he molds his lips to better fit against Lance’s. He leans forward when Lance draws back, reluctant to break apart, until he finally relents, and looks Lance in the eyes.

                “You and me,” Lance starts, and Keith finishes automatically: “Us against the world.”

                Lance nods.

                “I knew that in my soul by the summer before senior year,” he says. “There are billions of people in this world, but there’s only one Keith Kogane. And he’s the person I want to face life with.”

                Keith tilts his head as Lance goes on. “People can say what they want, say I’m throwing my life away or say that I haven’t met enough people yet. But I like to think about it like picking ice cream flavors.”

                Keith chokes on a laugh. “ _Ice cream flavors?_ How many metaphors do you have for our relationship?”

                “A lot,” Lance says. “My favorite topic to think about, may as well come up with cheesy shit while I do it. Anyway. Ice cream flavors. You walk into an ice cream shop and ask for a list of flavors, and the cashier starts reading them off to you, right?”

                “Mmm,” Keith says, while Lance finally resumes his efforts of doing Keith’s eye makeup, swapping his eyeliner brush for mascara.

                “Say you pick the third or fourth flavor on that list. People are gonna ask you why the hell you picked so soon when there are like, twenty-three other flavors the cashier hasn’t even listed yet.”

                It amazes Keith, how focused Lance can be on not stabbing him in the eye with a mascara brush, even as he rambles about his ice cream metaphor. His eyes open, Keith watches him, but Lance doesn’t even seem to notice Keith’s staring as he darkens Keith’s eyelashes.

                “Well, wouldn’t you wonder, too?” Lance asks, and Keith would blink back to reality if he could blink at the moment.

                “Uh, yeah,” Keith says. “But I’ve got a feeling you’ve got an answer to that.”

                “I do.”

                Other eye. Keith waits, but Lance takes the second to pause and make quick work of the second eye. In a matter of seconds, he’s done, and draws back, tilting his head to each side as he studies Keith’s face. Finally, he nods to himself, puts the mascara away, and pulls out the bottle of foundation he keeps for Keith.

                “Think of your favorite ice cream flavor. Like, the best ice cream flavor. That’s the one the cashier reads fourth on the list. You don’t need to hear any other flavors after that. That’s the one you want.”

                He smiles, and taps Keith’s nose. Keith scrunches it, and Lance leans in and kisses the tip of it. “You’re my favorite ice cream flavor.”

                The endearing nature of his statement only lasts for two seconds, when Keith levels serious eyes at Lance. “I really want you to think about what you just said to me.”

                Lance pauses, picks through the words in his mind, and then his smile deepens, and he winks as he leans closer to Keith. He opens his mouth to make some remark, but Keith laughs and pushes him back, Lance grunting as Keith’s hand covers up his mouth, blocks out his eyes.

                “Nope, nope! Heathen!”

                “Oh, c’mon! At least lemme finish your makeup first!”

                After a moment more of Lance reaching for Keith’s face with a makeup brush lightly coated in foundation, and Keith squirming away from him, Keith finally relents, and rights himself. Lance pointedly tightens his knees on either side of Keith’s as he gets back to work.

                “Not getting away again,” Lance mutters.

                “Nah, never,” Keith agrees quietly, and they both fall silent.

                The foundation settles cool against Keith’s face, as Lance applies it with gentle brushstrokes. Keith keeps his eyes closed, and doesn’t think he imagines the several times he feels Lance’s thumb tracing a line over his cheekbone, instead of the brush.

                “I still don’t get how you’re so perfect,” Lance whispers at one point, and a heartbeat later, throws his head back and laughs when Keith’s face grows hot underneath his touch. “And still I don’t get how you don’t know it. Also—” he spritzes Keith’s face and neck a few times with setting spray, “—we’re done here.”

                He sets his brushes down and stands up, and pushes Keith over to the mirror. He wraps arms around Keith’s waist and settles his chin on Keith’s shoulder while Keith studies his reflection.

                “Handsome,” Lance says. “An absolute stud. Hottest knight in the land. Gonna have all those soldier boys trippin’ over themselves to win your praise.”

                “Stop quoting Hamilton at me,” Keith mutters, face flushing.

                “You mean stop quoting your pining song?” Lance teases.

                “Don’t you have your own makeup to do, _Prince Lanceylance_?” Keith shoots back, and wiggles his way out of Lance’s arms. “Go get ready. I’m gonna start getting our costumes in order. We’ve got other people we can’t keep waiting, remember?”

                Lance sighs as Keith crosses the room to their closet, where their shopping bags hang up, full of their costume pieces. “I _knooooow._ As much as I would _love_ for the prince to get a private carriage, with no one but his knight for... _protection_ …”

                Keith chokes. “Shut—!”

                Lance laughs again, returning to his makeup, settling in front of his personal mirror. “God, I never get sick of making you flustered. You’re adorable.”

                Lance spends the next fifteen minutes doing his face, while Keith lays out their costume pieces on their respective beds. For himself, he has an intricate-looking set of armor that he spent less on than he expected, silver pieces of plastic he’ll no doubt modify and reinforce over winter break. Underneath it, he’s got gear from Under Armor—black athletic tights, and a form-fitting shirt. Both of which Lance doesn’t know about. To top it off, he’s got a larger-than-necessary plastic sword.

                Not to mention, a second knife, the same one Lance bought from the haunted house they went to last year as his birthday gift.

                Lance’s costume is just slightly simpler. A black dress shirt and pants underneath a blue jacket embroidered with gold, topped off with gold epaulettes, and a black-and-gold sash. He insisted upon buying a cape, so they bought a black cape, also embroidered in gold. To top it off, he’s going to wear a crown. They bought the nicest-looking one Keith could find, and Keith may have spent some time touching it up afterward.

                Keith starts getting changed while Lance nears the end of his makeup routine, and just finishes tugging the shirt over his head, and fixing the bunched areas around his waist and hips when Lance turns around, and stumbles back into his desk. Keith’s head snaps in his direction; Lance clutches his chest, one hand braced on the top of the desk.

                “Holy shit,” Lance says. “Give a guy some warning next time, hot damn. Those fucking _muscles,_ holy fuck…”

                “How many times are you gonna do this?” Keith asks, reaching for an armor piece when Lance rushes over and stops him by grabbing his bicep—and then refusing to let go.

                “As many times as it takes for you to get the message that you’re a _treasure._ Oh my God. This is mine. You’re mine. Wow.”

                Keith would tell Lance to let go of his arm and stop gawking, if he didn’t catch sight of Lance’s makeup.

                He’s stunning. Blue bases with gold accents for his eyes, while the rest of his face radiates warmth and sunshine, with gold highlighter and bronze contour.

                “Look at yourself,” Keith whispers, and has to hold back from reaching out and touching Lance’s face.

                They both jump three feet in the air when Lance’s phone goes off, and cuts through the silence. Lance trips over himself to swipe it from the bedside table he left it on, and he swears under his breath when he sees that he set an alarm for himself: _GET MOVING YOU’RE GONNA BE LATE STOP STARING AT KEITH._

                “You really planned ahead for staring, huh?” Keith murmurs, looking over his shoulder.

                Lance yelps and flings his phone onto his bed. Keith takes his turn and laughs now, as he takes Lance by the wrist and drags him back over to the costumes. “Alright, c’mon, you read the alert. Gonna be late, Starboy. Start getting ready.”

                Lance obliges. He gets into his shirt and pants, while Keith starts putting on armor pieces. A few times, they help each other—Lance fixes a few askew pieces on Keith’s shoulders and back, while Keith adjusts Lance’s sash and cape.

                Keith wears nothing on his head, and Lance ends up pulling his hair back, hastily tying a braid down the side of his head and weaving it into the short ponytail. Once he finishes with Keith’s hair, Keith takes Lance’s crown into his hands. Lance drops to one knee and bows his head.

                “Your crown, my highness,” Keith says, and gently places it on Lance’s hair.

                Lance lifts his head, mouth quirked into a smile. “You gonna do this again tomorrow night?”

                “We’re going out again tomorrow night?” Keith asks, Lance’s face morphs into shock.

                “Shit! I knew I had something to tell you!” He rises to full height, and takes one of Keith’s hands, clasping it between both of his own. “Babe. Darling. Dented knight—well, no dents, might have to fix that—” Keith swats him with his free hand, “—not like that! But! Anyway! Tomorrow! It’s Halloween!”

                “Yes, that’s kind of why we have a party tonight,” Keith says, and Lance feigns a glare, while Keith grins.

                “Yes. But Halloween means trick-or-treating. And Clara and Javier wanted me to take them again, so I told Emely that if she drove up and picked me up, and then brought me back after, I’d take them. And they may have been demanding that Tío Keith come too.”

                Keith’s expression softens into something a little more genuine. “Tío Keith, huh? Been a little while since I’ve heard that one.”

                Lance smiles back at him, presses Keith’s hand against the space over his heart. “Yeah. Tío Keith. I told them I’d ask him. And they _really, really_ want him to come along. And maybe do some more singing. And _I_ really want Tío Keith to come along and maybe do some more singing.”

                Keith’s heart melts.

                His knees go weak at the look Lance turns on him. He absolutely hates this effect Lance has on him, but it’s not like he can do much about it. So he wraps his free hand over one of Lance’s and squeezes.

                “Of course I’ll come. I miss your family, anyway. Even though we just saw them this weekend.”

                “Good,” Lance says. “The niblings’ll be happy, and I know my mom will, too.”

                “Gonna tell the queen the prince’s found a husband?” Keith teases. “If I’m the prince’s husband, am I also a prince, or just a consort?”

                Lance shakes his head. “Don’t. I haven’t researched that intensively—we can’t all be up at 3 AM fifteen links deep into Wikipedia. I say you’re a prince, too. Equals in every way. Except maybe combat, because...babe, again, your _fucking muscles._ ”

                “We get it, you think I’m buff,” Keith says, and leans in, kissing Lance softly. Lance smiles against his mouth and pulls Keith closer to him. “If I’m better than you in combat, you can be better than me with diplomacy, and we can just step in where need be. Good cop, bad cop.”

                “Good prince, bad prince,” Lance corrects cheekily.

                Keith sighs. “Yeah. Good prince, bad prince.”

                “Love my badboy knight-prince.”

                “Oh my God.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then they went to the party with their friends and were the hottest couple there
> 
> idk if i'm gonna write/have time to write anything for halloween
> 
> ALSO NANOWRIMO STARTS ON THURSDAY AND I WANNA WORK MORE ON SOOPITS
> 
> (oh my god is this fic and soopits gonna become the next "lol i wanna update sgd but...squad up...it's right there" thing PLEASE STOP ME)
> 
> alright yeet see ya in the next one


	33. this is halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance and keith on the walk home, ft. some tired niblings and lance being in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i miss them

                Lance loves Halloween.

                He loves almost every holiday, if he’s being honest. They give him excuses to dress up, be it in a costume or formalwear, and usually he gets to spend extended amounts of time with his family, and there are usually a few members who he can count on to keep him relaxed, even if other members are more...unsavory.

                Halloween puts him with his niece and nephew, roaming the streets back home in the dark with other hordes of children and other parents and older siblings who got roped into supervising. He lets Clara and Javier run ahead—not too far, but it’s not like he’s keeping them on some metaphorical leash, because he _knows_ how stifling _that_ is—while he hangs back, keeping to the sidewalks and sides of the road.

                For the less festive guardians around, he must look a little strange, in full costume. Even more so, with Keith walking alongside him, also in full costume, and acting the part.

                Keith with kids is a sight Lance will never get sick of.

                The whole night, he’s fended off dragons, ghouls and witches and other tiny royalty all playfully approaching Lance. With the night winding down, though, he’s put his sword back into the scabbard around his waist, a hasty last-minute construction, and now laces his fingers with Lance’s.

                “What do you wanna do when we get back on campus?” Lance asks, as Clara and Javier run up another set of steps and screech out an enthusiastic _TRICK OR TREAT!_ “It’s not gonna be that late.”

                “I dunno,” Keith answers. “I know there are a bunch of parties that aren’t starting till late, but we’ve got an 8 AM…”

                “And you don’t like parties,” Lance says, purposely bumping shoulders.

                “Well, I mean...you’re _right_ ,” Keith responds, “but it’s Halloween. I’m literally _wearing armor_. And _you_ like parties. If you were willing to go to one, I’d be willing to go. Even if we wake up looking like disasters because we probably overslept and we’re running late.”

                Lance smiles and laughs softly; Keith’s heart flutters, face warming.

                “You’re cute,” Lance says. “But nah. Not in the mood for a party. And we’ll be back too late to catch whatever horror movie’s happening at the Student Union. But we _do_ have Netflix and Hulu, and access to plenty of horror movies on our _own._ ”

                He and Keith continue down the sidewalk after Lance’s niblings, who dash down the pathway from one door to the next, eager to get whatever else they can as more and more lights extinguish, candy bowls empty and disappear into darkening houses.

                “So then how about we get back to the dorm, we shower, and then we watch a horror movie before we call it a night?” Keith suggests.

                “Or,” Lance says, “we shower _here_ , and _then_ drive back up. We can cuddle in our pajamas in Em’s back seat.”

                Keith raises his eyebrows. “If we shower _here_ , we’re gonna get back _so_ late.”

                “No!” Lance responds defensively.

                Keith’s mouth quirks up. “You’re _sure_ you can make this one of our time-saving ones? Because you’ve been awfully affectionate lately.”

                Lance blushes now, and squeezes Keith’s hand. “I just wanna show my fiancé how much I appreciate him, and how safe he makes me feel when I’m with him. Y’know at this point last year, we just got the promise rings like, three days ago?”

                “Three days ago, huh…,” Keith muses, and Lance nods.

                “Yep. October 28th, you beat me to the hocosal and decided to ask me to promise myself to you. And then nine months later you asked me to marry you,” Lance says. “Like, nine months to the _day_ , Keith. A true romantic.”

                “Yeah, well, don’t forget the promposal,” Keith replies. “Planned it down to a T, a month before our anniversary, everything down to the _weekday._ You even mimicked the way we got together. I’m pretty sure I’ve cried over it at least eight different times.”

                “Aw, you’re a softie,” Lance says, and giggles when Keith groans, as Lance leans his head on Keith’s shoulder as they walk along.

                The sidewalks continue to thin out, parents and siblings and other guardians bringing their charges home for the night. When Clara and Javier come back to them, after six houses in a row with blackened windows and no candy, feet dragging, Lance knows it’s time.

                “Alright, guys,” Lance says, dropping his voice to match the sudden silence of the neighborhood, “let’s get you home.”

                He and Keith move in tandem; they unlace their fingers. Keith scoops Clara into his arms, while Lance picks up Javier. Compared to their energy just a little while ago, both of them are exhausted lumps now, slumping against Keith and Lance, fingers barely clutching their pumpkin pails filled to the brim with candy.

                Lance can’t help but steal glances at Keith every now and again, and Clara’s not doing him any favors by looking like she could be Lance’s daughter, instead of niece. His chest tightens, as he watches Keith carry her all the way back to the house, quietly singing some song that Lance’s mind is too busy to comprehend.

                _One day,_ Lance reminds himself.

                One day, they’ll have kids of their own—adopted from the foster system, if they can help it— and Lance can’t wait for that day, can’t wait to love those kids to the moon and back, can’t wait to dote on them and watch Keith dote on them and be a _dad_ , with the love of his life at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't even plan the "nine months to the day" thing when i wrote squad up, the calendar just happened to align that way
> 
> also, you might be asking yourself, "why are they so much more affectionate than usual? and like especially physically intimate?" bc i miss them and just as That Thing in stars go down prevented me from writing kl fluff, thus leading to an increase in squad up, the Fucking Pining (Which Will Kill Me) in stealing our own place in the sun won't let me write them as clingy there, so i gotta do it here
> 
> they're just in love boys in college susan
> 
> n e ways see ya later a bitch has an 8 AM


	34. BONUS: olive branch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a scene written out from [That Oneshot.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16452722)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just as that bonus chapter in squad up, matt's bad romance, was not considered squad up canon, neither is this
> 
> anyway i wanted to write this scene out so gOOD MORNING SLUTS I'M HERE FOR YOUR FEELINGS (unless u don't want/need this rn, then feel free to click out)
> 
>  
> 
> **as with the oneshot, trigger warnings for implications of depression and suicidal thoughts.**

                For once, Keith is in the dorm when Lance comes back.

                This must be him attempting to bridge the gap between them, a gap that was never supposed to exist in the first place, a gap that widened to a ravine before their eyes.

                He raises tired eyes when Lance comes back into the room, and for a moment, Lance’s chest clenches. Purple smudges underline his eyes; he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. It’s been like that for weeks now, but somehow seems worse today.

                Lance debates whether or not to greet him, but Keith drops his gaze away, and back to the textbook propped up on his knees, so Lance doesn’t. Instead, he tosses his bag on his chair and sighs. So things are still going to be awkward, and probably won’t get better until they talk things out tomorrow. Fine.

                Lance plugs his phone into his charger and leaves it on his desk, and hops up onto his bed. It’s only then that he notices his journal left on top of the comforter...when Lance could’ve sworn he’d left it elsewhere. Not his desk...but definitely not his bed. And the clasp on the side of it sits undone.

                Lance steals a suspicious glance over his shoulder. Keith’s curling tighter into himself, drawing his knees and book closer up to his face and chest.

                An old ache rises up, an urge to reach out and hold Keith. But Lance can’t do that anymore. Hasn’t been able to, for two months now. He should be completely pissed at Keith, for making it so. But he can’t bring himself to be. All there is, as he opens his journal, is a painful throb in his heart.

                He flips through the pages, intending to start a new entry and make it look like he’s studying, or doing some assignment for one of his classes, but stops dead at the latest entry. It should be his own handwriting staring him in the face, but it’s not. It’s a short message, in Keith’s scrawl. Curiously, Lance’s eyes flick to Keith again.

                He’s watching Lance, and his face burns when Lance catches him.

                He doesn’t look away.

                Lance looks down at his notebook again, heart pounding harder in his chest.

_10/12/18_

                That’s today.

_Dear Lance,_

                Automatically, Lance hears Keith’s voice in his head, instead of his own, almost like Keith is reading this directly to him. He holds the book a little tighter and forces his eyes down to the next line, ignoring the way they blur at the simplest address. _Dear._ He hasn’t heard an affectionate thing from Keith in a while. Wishes he could’ve.

                _Sorry for intruding. Your journal was on the floor—_

                So _that’s_ where Lance put it last.

                _—and I didn’t even realize you were writing this stuff down._

                Keith used to always know. Lance used to always know. They used to read each other like open books. Lance swallows the lump in his throat as he thinks back on their more than two years together, every moment they were at each others’ sides the second they realized something was off, and wonders what the hell happened to that.

                Wonders if it ever really went away, or if they’ve both just been covering all this time.

                _I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry._

                Lance blinks, and a tear plops onto the page, splattering, running some of the blue pen ink together.

                _I don’t want to do this without you._

                _This._ The semester? Talking? College in general? Life?

                Keith never specifies in his wording, but Lance knows.

                _I can’t wait for tomorrow. Talk to me later, please._

_Please._

_-Keith_

                Like Lance needs the signature to know who this is from.

                He raises his head, and his breath catches in the back of his throat. Keith still openly stares, but this time, tears slide down his cheeks, blatant waterfalls. He shudders and shivers and stifles every gasp that comes, but makes no move to hide his tears.

                This is his olive branch.

                Lance shuts the journal and slowly stands up from his bed. Keith mirrors his motions, setting his textbook aside, standing up with such hesitation that Lance’s heart breaks all over again. Then it’s the two of them, facing each other in that small space between their beds, face-to-face, silently crying.

                Then, just like opposing magnets, they collide, and every pent-up emotion from the last two months breaks free as they both choke out sobs.

                Holding Keith feels as natural as breathing. Despite their distance, Lance’s arms still find their spaces, around Keith’s waist, around the back of his head, while Keith digs fingers into the backs of Lance’s shoulders and hangs on for dear life. Every last one of their walls collapses and shatters. Lance’s sobs grow louder, while Keith’s shaking gets worse.

                Lance can’t pinpoint the moment they begin crying out their apologies, can’t remember who does it first, but soon enough finds himself in an endless stream of _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ s as their knees buckle, and they sink to the floor.

                “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” Lance repeatedly tries to soothe Keith at one point, but his voice keeps catching and breaking, comes out croaky, but Lance hopes his underlying message is still there: _I never left in the first place._

                Their sobs still haven’t petered out by the time Keith pulls back, fingers fumbling for the nightside table shoved underneath his bed. He snags a journal of his own and thrusts it at Lance.

                “I-I didn’t...I didn’t mean to read yours, but...it’s...it’s only right.”

                Lance takes Keith’s journal gently into his hands, and scans over each entry as quickly as possible.

                _I hate myself._

_I’m not good for him._

_I’ve got plenty of scars._

_I think this is what death feels like._

_I’m fucking terrified._

_I’m...happy for him._

_I’m a fucking idiot._

_I’m hurting him._

_I want to fucking die._

_Because he’s Lance._

_Because he’s fucking perfect._

_He’s a masterpiece._

_I’m hurting myself._

_I’ve gotta fix this._

_So I fucked up._

_I have to apologize._

_He needs to know I don’t hate him._

_I never hated him._

_I ran._

_I can’t lose him._

_He never stopped wearing the promise ring._

_Neither did I._

                The pieces of Lance’s heart multiply, splintering into broken, jagged shards that tear him up from the inside out as he looks at Keith again, and reads the terror in his eyes. What the hell’s been going on inside of him? What fucking darkness has Lance missed? He saw the lights getting dimmer, sputtering. He didn’t realize they’d already blown out.

                “I’m so sorry,” Keith repeats, voice small, feeble. “I-I...you deserved more…I never should’ve started this, I just wanted things to get better for you but I was h-hurting you for so long and I…” He chokes on another sob, but holds a hand up, both a barrier between himself and Lance, and to keep Lance from interrupting. “I-I never wanted to hurt you like that, Lance. You’re...you’re worth so much, you’re so...you’re so fucking _good,_ and _genuine,_ and…”

                Keith breaks down again, and Lance drags him back in and cries with him, pressing his face into the slope of his neck and shoulder, that familiar space that’s always been his.

                “I should’ve tried harder,” Lance whispers. “I should’ve...God, I should’ve fought you on this. Never again, Keith. I’m not…” He sniffles, and holds Keith tighter to him. “I’m not letting you slip away. Never again.”

                Keith makes a noise, like he’s going to protest. Lance draws back just long enough to look him in the eyes while he’s still trying to form words, and then he kisses him.

                He threads fingers through the hair at the back of Keith’s neck, and Keith melts into him, molds his lips to better fit Lance’s, and the ache in Lance’s chest multiplies and spreads throughout the rest of him, because this is what feels right. This is what feels safe and familiar, what he’s been without for two months.

                It’s like coming home.

                They don’t break until the tears become too much, until their cheeks are soaked and their kiss turns sloppy. Lance presses their foreheads together and holds Keith close to him, but it’s not as if Keith really planned on going anywhere.

                Keith’s quivering hand reaches for Lance’s neck, for the chain of his necklace. He lifts it, and his eyes brim fresh when they land on the promise ring at the end of the chain. Slowly, he digs under his own shirt, and produces the same chain.

                “You and me.”

                He meets Lance’s eyes, searching for confirmation. Lance lets go of his head, lets go of his waist, to wrap his hands around Keith’s, around the promise rings. He nods, nods again, over and over while new tears break free.

                “Us against the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright bye we'll be back to ur regularly scheduled fluff later probably


	35. cloudy weather does that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a casual walk home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know what this is i just wanted casual fluff after the angst i threw at u guys ergtegebtrgb
> 
> also no i totally did not write part of this in my head after i made my roommate go get starbucks with me i dunno what ur talking about

                Starbucks has holiday drinks again, and in Lance Land, that means holiday season has officially begun again. He practically skips down the wet sidewalk as he sips on a peppermint mocha frappuccino, cloudy gray skies overhead doing nothing but reminding him off the overcast days back home, after-school coffee runs with Keith.

                He swings their hands between them, Keith much more mellow, and sips languidly on his own coffee, enjoying Lance’s company nonetheless, as he leads them away from Starbucks, away from the bookstore, and back toward their dorm so they can ditch their backpacks and rest up before the Friday nightlife begins.

                “Only four weeks left till we’re back home for winter break,” Lance says, chipper as ever. “Four weeks until we get to hang out back in town, four weeks till we can prep for Christmas at home, four weeks till—”

                “Five,” Keith corrects out of nowhere, and Lance pauses, with his eyebrows raised.

                “Five?”

                “Counting finals, five.”

                _Oof._ Lance didn’t count finals. He has five exams; three of them line up with three of Keith’s four. Keith is due to get out two days earlier than him— _Yeah, like I’d ever,_ Keith had said. _I’d rather stay the extra two days and spend them with you_ —and Lance hasn’t really wanted to consider any of that.

                “Okay, fine, five,” Lance says, “but practically four. Let me have this.”

                Keith shrugs, as Lance tugs him along, down the sidewalk. Mostly, he’s content to let Lance ramble, and savor the feeling of their fingers intertwined. It feels almost like their Target runs, their Christmas shopping misadventures.

                Without thinking, Keith leans further into Lance, shoulder pressing harder together. His head tilts in Lance’s direction, and Lance’s head moves toward Keith’s. They bump gently, the sensation momentarily drawing Lance out of his talking.

                “Aw,” Lance murmurs, “you’re soft today.”

                _Yeah, well, cloudy weather does that,_ Keith thinks, and momentarily closes his eyes, trusting both his own body and Lance to keep him on his feet.

                “Yeah,” he agrees, though tiredness is also part of it. Just a quick nap while he waits for the caffeine to kick in should get him back up and running. He craves being out of the drizzle, craves being warm in their room, craves Lance holding him, listening to the sound of his breathing, to the beat of his heart…

                “Can we cuddle when we get back?” he asks.

                “Of course,” Lance answers, almost immediately. He lets go of Keith’s hand to bring his arm around Keith’s shoulders, while Keith wraps his around Lance’s waist. “Can I get a few dances at Late Night, then?”

                _I’ll have my energy back by then._ “As many as you want. I’ll be all yours.”

                Lance smiles, big and wide. He takes another sip of his frappuccino and begins rambling again, off on another tangent about how happy this time of year makes him, even if the weather threatens to make his depression worse. Keith listens to him the whole way back to their dorm, floating in the ocean of his words. Lance doesn’t stop, even when they get into their room; he goes on as they shrug off jackets and hats, set coffees on desks, unpack backpacks.

                He only stops when he climbs onto Keith’s bed and opens up his arms.

                Keith climbs up after him and lies down next to him, half-on top of him. He drapes one arm across Lance’s stomach and lays his head on Lance’s chest, while Lance cradles him, running fingers through his hair.

                “Wake me up for dinner?” Keith mumbles after a few minutes of nothing but Lance and his soothing touches.

                “You got it, Starlight,” Lance replies. “Don’t worry about a thing. Get some rest.”

                Keith nods, and barely manages an _I love you_ as his eyelids droop. He snuggles closer to Lance and takes pleasure in the stutter of Lance’s heart skipping a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they


	36. is it gonna be a day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a moment in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't get out of bed till noon today so i projected on keith
> 
> **trigger warning for a minor ~depressive episode~**

                _No._

                Keith squints at the ceiling, at the sunshine slanting into the dorm through the gaps in the blinds, and automatically knows that it’s just _not_ going to be a good day. Or at least, a good morning. The alarm going off is his 10 AM alarm, which means he should be getting ready for the day. After all, it’s set four hours later than his typical school alarms, which means he should be plenty rested and plenty willing.

                But the urge to shut his eyes and roll back over and just not leave his bed all day is so fucking tempting.

                So he rolls over.

                His face ends up pressed against Lance’s collarbone, and he wraps arms around Lance’s back and holds him like he’s holding a teddy bear. Lance breathes out heavy through his nose—it might be a snort, as one of his hands cradles the back of Keith’s head.

                “Good morning to you, too.”

                Keith groans, and Lance’s expression softens. Keith ended last night quieter than usual; he had a feeling this was coming.

                “Is it gonna be a Day?” Lance whispers, voice dropping.

                Keith nods. Lance keeps petting his hair and nods back to him. “Okay. Okay! We’re gonna go get brunch when the dining hall opens, alright? You don’t even have to change out of your pajamas. We can come back here after. You’re gonna get all the quiet you need.”

                Keith nods again, this time with a grunt. Lance keeps running fingers through his hair, while Keith breathes steadily, listens to the sounds of Lance breathing, tries to sync up with him.

                Lance keeps an eye on the clock. The closer to the dining hall opening that they eat, the less crowded it will be. Quieter for Keith, and less people to bother him, less people to see him and be near him in a vulnerable state.

                Keith doesn’t think about any of this.

                Keith settles back into the space between waking and sleeping, reality and dreamland. Spending time here might distract him from the dark, that wall-like cloud barreling for him.

                Lance starts humming, a slow rumbling in his chest. Dimly, Keith recognizes the song as some lullaby that Lance’s mom used to sing to him. It’s not good for him to be doing this now, when there’s less than half an hour till they need to leave the dorm, but Keith doesn’t protest, because Lance’s humming fills him with warmth, makes it easier to slip deeper into disillusionment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took listening to natewantstobattle to pull me out of my funk today and get this little thing down so STAN NATEWANTSTOBATTLE
> 
> [STREAM PAID IN EXPOSURE](https://open.spotify.com/album/1oZPpBr6pivIxf8OYZh0w4?si=HC01yUodTDevt-iSZaqdbQ)


	37. come on, make it easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> say i never mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clare aka my roommate has listened to young volcanoes out loud several times this weekend and this oNE FUCKIN LINE wouldn't leave me alone so i had to klance it up bc,,, that's my brand now i guess

                So Lance hasn’t listened to Fall Out Boy’s entire discography.

                It’s not really his thing! He at least knows the more popular ones, and knows every song Keith has subjected him to, but there are a few that have slipped between the cracks, a few he can’t recognize by one line of lyrics alone.

                _“Come on, make it easy, say I never mattered…”_

                It’s the first thing Lance hears when he opens the door to the dorm. He doesn’t see Keith tapping his foot, or nodding his head along to a beat he can’t hear because _fucking headphones,_ doesn’t see how engrossed he is in a textbook.

                “Keith?”

                Keith’s doesn’t look up right away. Lance frowns, and drops his bag on his empty chair. He can’t see Keith’s face, doesn’t realize that Keith is deep into the music and deep into his work, and it’s not that he’s ignoring Lance.

                “Babe?”

                He steps forward, and lays a hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith flinches and rockets back, nearly falling out of his chair. It doesn’t help that it rocks abnormally, and lands with a hard thud on the floor. He rips his earbuds out and whips around, startled.

                He visibly relaxes once he realizes it’s only Lance in the room, and lets out a deep breath.

                “Jeez...hey.”

                “You alright?” Lance asks, as Keith stands up from his chair.

                Lance takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, and brings their hands to about shoulder height. Keith furrows his brow, as Lance brings his other arm around Keith’s waist in what might be a hug, or what might be Lance trying to start a ballroom dance. He’s still not sure.

                “Yeah?” Keith replies.

                Lance bumps Keith’s forehead with his, bumps his nose into Keith’s cheek, tilts his head to the side and raises his gaze to meet Keith’s eyes, silently asking permission. Keith indulges him in a soft kiss, steadying them by cupping Lance’s cheek.

                “Are _you_ okay?” he murmurs, stroking a thumb along Lance’s cheekbone.

                “Yeah, yeah, no, I’m fine,” Lance says, “but I walked in, and...you…”

                Keith seems to suddenly understand. Maybe. If the laughter is any indication. Or maybe he’s just losing his mind.

                “No, no, Lance, I’m alright, that’s just...you’ve never heard that song?”

                Keith lets go of Lance’s face, but keeps their other hands clasped, and turns to his laptop. He gestures to the screen, to where Spotify is opened, and Lance sees that he was in the middle of a Fall Out Boy song. Apparently not, in fact, in the middle of an anxious episode.

                Lance’s mouth forms an O shape as Keith looks back at him and smiles, and cups the back of Lance’s head. He tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of Lance’s neck, while Lance blinks and attempts to form words that aren’t dial-up internet noises.

                “I’m okay,” he repeats.

                “You’re sure?” Lance’s brain finally reconnects with his mouth. “Like, sure-sure? How’ve you been doing lately? You’re not just covering, are you?”

                “Hey, hey…” Keith kisses Lance again, even more softly than before, a brief press of their mouths, just long enough for Lance to begin kissing back before Keith pulls away. “I swear, I’m alright. I’ve...I’ve been trying harder, to get past that stuff.” He squeezes Lance’s hand. “But thanks. This...this makes it easier.”

                Keith tugs Lance over to Lance’s side of the room, and climbs up onto the bed, pulling Lance on after him. Unlike Keith’s bed, simply laid out with a pillow at the top and then his blankets, Lance’s is more of a nest, pillows everywhere and multiple blankets draped over the foot. Keith leans back into the pillows, with Lance next to him.

                “You make it a lot easier,” Keith says, and makes a point of resting his head on Lance’s shoulder. “I promise, I’ll tell you if I start feeling that way again and can’t pull myself out of it, but any time it’s happened...it gets easier to remind myself I’m overthinking. I just…” Keith sticks out his hand, and gestures to the engagement ring. “I know I proposed, but you said yes. And we were alone—you weren’t just saying it to please a crowd or appease me.”

                “Uh-huh…,” Lance says, and wraps his arm around Keith’s shoulders, drawing him in closer.

                “And you keep checking in on me like this,” Keith says, “and you always tell me you love me. And even when you don’t outright say it, I can feel it. But I think one of the biggest things is your mom.”

                Lance chokes on a laugh.

                “ _What?_ ”

                “You heard me.”

                Lance quirks an eyebrow, and Keith goes on, as he takes Lance’s free hand in his, and begins playing with his fingers.

                “A lot of people...don’t really have great relationships with their parents to begin with. But you do. But even people like you, people who get along with their parents...they’re usually not inclined to tell them about a relationship. Not if they’re having trouble, or if it’s a fling, or if they don’t think it’s going to work out,” Keith says. “But...you told your mom. She took me in like I was her own kid, your whole family knows me…and sometimes I hear you on the phone, too. It...makes me really happy.”

                Keith laces their fingers together again.

                “Someone out there...they see value in me,” Keith goes on. “Enough value to gush back home about. Enough value to keep around. I’m not just...someone you hang out with, but then keep a secret. I’m not someone you don’t wanna talk about, y’know?”

                “I would scream my love for you from the tallest point in the world, just so everyone could hear me,” Lance says quietly. “The day I’m ashamed of loving you is the day I’ve died and been replaced with a clone.”

                “That was so romantic, up until that last part,” Keith sighs.

                Lance snorts. “Shut up, you know you loved that.”

                He leans his head on top of Keith’s and snuggles closer to him, closer to the love of his life. Keith lets him without protest, leaning into the warmth Lance offers, into the safety and comfort of his touch. He closes his eyes and slips into that place, the one that feels like home.

                “Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” Lance whispers. “You and me.”

                Keith’s smile deepens, warmth spreading from his chest and out through the rest of him. “Us against the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pffff how many of u thought i was going the angsty route again be honest
> 
> no angst here just two boys very much in love


	38. rain rain gO AWAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rain, round 2: ft earlier darkness than usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my roommate and i were leaving our 4:40-5:30 lecture yesterday and we realized. it's gonna be that dark. every single time we get out.
> 
> press f

                Rain pours from a nighttime-dark sky when Lance and Keith leave their last class.

                “Oh, God, I forgot about this,” Lance murmurs, opening up his umbrella, glaring at the pitch black overhead. “It’s gonna be dark like this every time we get out of here.”

                “It’s gonna be even darker after one of my other lectures,” Keith mutters, and wraps an arm around Lance’s waist and crowds underneath his umbrella, which Lance holds dutifully between them. He tugs up his scarf—the same one Lance almost choked him out with, trying to get it on him—around his mouth.

                He shivers. The rain and the dark aren’t helping with the cold snap that’s hit Arus, and walking back to the dining hall from the class they’re leaving, about halfway across campus...well, it’s not ideal. The only thing the weather has going for it is that Keith has a better excuse to snuggle up to Lance, other than _I wanted to, now take my affection and deal with it._

                Not that Lance ever has any issue with _that_ reasoning.

                “Are you still going to the Student Union after dinner?” Keith asks, with a flick of his eyes to the clouds above them.

                “It’s the only way I can focus and get my stuff done for tomorrow, so, uh, yeah, gonna have to. Little rain’s never stopped me before, and it’s not gonna stop me now,” Lance says. “Trust me, Mullet, the only reason I have this umbrella up now is for _your_ benefit.”

                “Sure,” Keith says, pretending his misses the way Lance’s teeth chatter at the end of his statement. “So you don’t mind if I just—”

                He lets go of Lance’s waist, and moves to retract his arm when Lance grabs it, and puts it back into place. Keith smirks up at him, while Lance flushes.

                “It’s just...comfy there. Much nicer for you to grab onto than just letting it dangle. Again, all for _your_ benefit,” Lance says.

                “Whatever you say.”

                Keith likes his arm better there, too.

                They walk back to their dorm and the dining hall mostly silent, savoring the heat coming off of the other as they trek across campus. Keith reluctantly releases Lance when they finally hit the dining hall, while Lance closes his umbrella. Keith pulls open the door for Lance, and follows him inside.

                He waits until they get to a table to collapse into his arms and release a deep breath, much warmer here.

                “ _Mood_ ,” is all Lance mutters in response, holding Keith tightly. He starts shuffling forward, and Keith sighs and rights himself. “C’mon, Mullet. Let’s get some food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm writing another thing for this fic so stay tuned
> 
> we goin >>>>> back to shorter chapters like originally intended, hopefully


	39. they voted and so should you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sleepy keith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance voted and so should you
> 
> polls are already closing but if you're eligible to vote and able to vote and DIDN'T, NUMBER ONE, I'M JUDGING YOU
> 
> NUMBER TWO, IF YOUR POLLS ARE STILL OPEN: _GO RIGHT NOW **WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR**_
> 
> anyway

                “So like, we just did that. We’re actually adulting now, and we just. We did that. We _actually_ got to vote. I’m—holy shit, _Keith do you know how big this is?_ ”

                Truthfully, Keith knows nothing except the big pile of mush occupying the space where his brain should be. He leans against Lance, and is maybe relying on him to support a good forty percent or so of his weight as they exit the polling location on the far side of campus and head back for the coach bus that brought them here, idling next to the sidewalk, illuminated in the dark by streetlight and the interior lights.

                He releases the arm snug around Lance’s waist with some reluctance as they board the near-empty bus to wait for everyone else, but Lance takes his hand and leads him up the steps, completely understanding as to the reasons why his rambling doesn’t get a response back.

                Lance plops down in a seat next to the aisle and helps Keith climb over him, and Keith lands in the window seat, exhaustion wearing down on him. Automatically, he slumps over, head falling onto Lance’s shoulder. Lance intertwines their fingers and leans his head on top of Keith’s.

                “See, this is why we don’t pull late nights to do assignments at the last minute,” Lance whispers, and Keith grunts.

                “Talkin’ real big for someone...someone who did the same thing…less than a year ago...”

                Lance chuckles softly, breath ruffling the hair at the top of Keith’s head. “Ah, there he is.”

                “Just...th’ atmosphere...I swear…”

                _Atmosphere,_ which in Lance’s head translates to the interior light of the bus, and the cushy seats underneath them, and the dark and cold outside, and the rain that would probably be more pleasant if it were snow.

                “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Starlight,” Lance murmurs, turning to the side and kissing the top of Keith’s head.

                Keith grunts again and buries his face deeper into Lance, into the side of his neck. “Just let me _sleep._ ”

                “Alright, alright. You got it.”

                Keith stills again, and Lance doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s a five minute ride back to their side of campus, and they still have to eat dinner. Instead, he takes in the feel of Keith’s warmth mingling with his, Keith with his walls down in public, and better angles himself to shield Keith from the bus aisle.

                _All mine,_ Lance thinks, gazing down upon his fiancé’s resting form. _My whole heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clare if u see this i was like 2 seconds away from wiping out on the bus and i kept myself awake by imagining Them


	40. stressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lancey boi is stressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to all my pals in the mcstressy/depressy boat i'm right there with ya we're sailing this ocean together

                In the first months of their relationship, Keith and Lance established several rules: talking to each other about their feelings was always welcome and would always take priority, surprise cuddles and hugs and handholding were always acceptable, and that no matter what, the other would _be there._ It was a big step for Keith in every sense, but he felt safe and secure with Lance, and wanted him to feel the same way.

                So Keith hopes Lance feels that way when he comes back to the dorm, groans, and climbs up onto the bed and collapses on top of Keith, burying his face in Keith’s chest and letting out a long sigh. Keith doesn’t bat an eye, still skimming his textbook as he wraps an arm around Lance’s back, and drops a kiss on the top of his head.

                “Y’wanna talk about it?” Keith asks, when he finishes with his paragraph, shuts his book, and sets it to the side, to get his other arm around Lance.

                “No,” Lance mumbles, voice muffled by virtue of his face being completely covered and pointing away from Keith’s ears. “Just stressed...please just hold me.”

                “Okay.”

                Keith leans back against the mattress, head propped up by several pillows, and Lance shifts positions until he’s entirely on top of Keith, on his chest, between his legs. Keith trails lazy fingers through Lance’s hair, and keeps a steadying hand on Lance’s back. Lance’s muscles uncoil slowly, nearly one-by-one as he lies there, tells himself that he’s got Keith and as long as Keith’s there, things will be alright.

                Silence fills the room, and Keith bites his lip. For himself, silence usually allows him to gather up his thoughts, clear his mind, reorganize and put things back in their place. His physical space might be a mess, but his brain’s got a system, and sometimes it needs cleaning.

                Lance is different.

                Lance thrives in chaos, thrives on noise and life. Somewhere in the crowd, he finds his peace. Silence allows room for overthinking, allows room for his thought process to spiral out of control. Keith frowns, as he looks down at him, and holds him a little tighter.

                “And in this installment of Prince Lanceylance and the Brave Knight,” Keith starts, eyes drifting to the ceiling, while Lance looks up sharply, “our prince receives dire news, something so unbearable he cannot hold it inside of him, not without it poisoning his very soul. He cannot tell _anyone_. So, naturally, he goes to his Brave Knight Kogane.”

                Lance slowly lays his head back down on Keith’s chest, against the space right over Keith’s heart, and releases another drawn-out breath.

                “The Brave Knight swore he’d slay any demon or monster that ever dared bring harm to his prince,” Keith goes on, “but not every demon is visible. Some monsters can’t be slain with swords. But the Brave Knight doesn’t give up in the face of an obstacle. Not when the prince is—mmh!”

                “No,” Lance mutters, pointedly pressing a hand over Keith’s mouth. “No sap. Stop using my own story against me. I’ll cry.”

                “Fine,” Keith concedes, when Lance takes his hand away. “But I was just gonna add that everything’s gonna be alright, whatever’s eating at you. I’ll make it right if it’s the last thing I do.”

                Lance huffs out a laugh, and the thing squeezing Keith’s heart loosens a little at the sound.

                “Not sure you can fight the course registration system, but okay.”

                Ah.

                That.

                Between exams, tests, quizzes, and projects, registering for courses for the spring took a sledgehammer to just about every person on campus, such as Lance, with a shitty pick day and time. Where Keith picked two days ago, Lance should have picked this afternoon.

                “Had to fall on your backup plan, huh?” Keith murmurs, and continues threading fingers through Lance’s hair, twisting his curls.

                “Yep,” Lance grunts.

                And his backup plan set them up to have even fewer classes together than this past semester, because while they both share the major they declared when applying to Arus—Aerospace Engineering—Lance picked up a second major in Marine Biology, while Keith took on Fine Arts, with a Photography concentration.

                They both chose the spring semester to clear a lot of prerequisites and requirements for their second majors, and only take a couple courses for their first majors.

                Even less time together during the day.

                “It’ll be alright,” Keith says. “You’re just knocking out the less popular requirements first, and when everyone else has to fill them, you’ll be able to get into the fun classes.”

                “I _knoooow._ Still sucks. I had a whole plan laid out that I liked, and then Plan B just...blah. Hate this.”

                “Mmhmm,” Keith says. “You’ll pull through, though. Have some faith in yourself.”

                “Mmm.”

                Lance shuts his eyes, one hand seeking out Keith’s. Keith takes him up, and loosely intertwines their fingers as he rests his arm on the mattress. His other hand still stays in Lance’s hair, while Lance settles more comfortably against Keith.

                “I’m staying here...for a little bit…”

                Keith chuckles softly. “Go right on ahead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey did u know i wrote a fic all during last year called deceit so natural (cue everyone going "oh my god please shut up about this you have not shut up about this all week")
> 
> u guys should read it if u like pining kl, undercover kl, kl doing Shenanigans, lotor being an oblivious tool, hunk actually getting arcs and characterization and a backstory, shiro having a character beyond "ptsd man we killed and had to bring back bc toy company so let's take every meaningful thing in his life from him," and pidge having a character other than "gremlin that's smarter than you'll ever be," team voltron actually being a team that cares about each other, uhhHHhhHhhH CHARACTERS ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS, did i mention kl (we get both pining + post-pining established relationship what are u waiting for)
> 
> can u smell the salt
> 
> anyhoo [here's the link to the first one have fun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539) reading this cOMPLETED TRILOGY (THAT'S RIGHT NO WAITING ON UPDATES)
> 
> okay bye gonna go stress some more as i wait for this professor to email me back


	41. hold this heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some casual kl fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first couple lines of the poem hit me at one thirty in the morning about 23 hours ago so naturally i had to write them down

_hold this heart._   
_keep it safe in the home of your hands,_   
_gentle hands, the sure and steady hands_   
_i have trusted myself to completely._

_the label reads_   
_“handle with care,”_   
_but you’ve never needed a label to know_   
_how to foster my fragility._

_please, never let go,_   
_never let me slip away,_   
_and i’ll do the same,_   
_hang on, hang tight._

_there’s a world out there plotting_   
_and conspiring_   
_and we’ll face it together,_   
_hand in shaking hand,_

_heart to breakable heart_   
_and take this a step at a time,_   
_paces matched,_   
_identical strides._

_hold this heart._   
_keep it safe in the home of your hands_   
_and entrust me with yours,_   
_and i’ll keep you steady._

                Lance can’t think of a single occasion that would warrant the paper sitting on his desk in Keith’s scrawl, in purple ink. He planned on doing _homework_ while he waited for Keith to get back from his lecture, not reading a poem and crying, but here he is anyway.

                He absently drops his bag onto his desk chair and then paces over to his bed, reading over the poem for the second time, eyes drinking in every word. He flops onto the mattress, reads it over a third time, as his eyes go from stinging to misty to wet to full-blown blurry.

                There’s _no occasion,_ no special day or anniversary to give Keith a kick in the pants to write this...right? No, Lance never misses an anniversary. He has every special day saved to his phone _and_ written in his planner, including random ones that truthfully aren’t that important in the grand scheme of things, like _two years ago today, Keith sneezed like a kitten and I had a heart palpitation and realized that it’s actually possible to be even more in love with someone than you thought._ Today was blank when he last checked.

                Lance rolls onto his back and buries his face in his hands as he sets the paper down, heart pounding, cheeks flushing. There’s only one way to resolve this.

                Blindly, Lance fumbles for his phone, and holds it high over his head as he unlocks it and opens FaceTime. As usual, Keith sits at the top of his contact list, his most recent FaceTime call. He taps on Keith’s name and glares at the screen, face still aflame as he waits for Keith to pick up.

                _“Hello?”_

“KOGANE!”

                Keith responds with laughter almost immediately. Lance’s flush deepens at the sight of dimples at the corners of Keith’s mouth, the rosy tint to his nose and cheeks from the cold, the way the setting, late-afternoon sun catches strands of his hair, creates a halo around his face in streaks of gold and rainbow.

                _“So you got my gift?”_

                “Uh, duh?” Lance responds, and pushes his bangs back. “Is there an occasion I somehow forgot about? Because I’ve got literally nothing for you except myself, and I mean, I _could_ be a fantastic gift, if used properly…”

                Lance wiggles his eyebrows, earning a sigh from Keith.

                _“Like I’d ever just_ use _you.”_

                Oh.

                Lance pretends like his heart doesn’t attempt to shoot straight out of his chest at that. At least his face can’t get any redder, and even if it did, Keith isn’t looking at the camera right now. Evidently, he’s on his way back to the dorm—Lance listens to the sound of cars going by in the background. Keith must be crossing the street.

                _“Anyway, no, there’s no special occasion. You don’t have to worry about doing anything for me. I just figured, y’know, reminding you of how much I love you might be a nice gesture, considering you almost had a mental breakdown yesterday.”_

                _Oh._

                Lance squeaks in the back of his throat. Keith’s eyes flick down to his phone screen, smiling deeply. Lance shuts his eyes and fights off the burning sensation, the building pressure.

                _“Is the door to the dorm unlocked?”_ Keith asks, as the automatic door at the entrance to their residence hall hisses in the background of the call. _“I’m almost back.”_

                He carries on the conversation so fucking _casually,_ like Lance’s chest isn’t borderline exploding.

                “Yep,” Lance answers, voice far too high for Keith not to notice he might be internally screaming.

                _“Alright, I’m gonna end the call before the elevator service murders it first,”_ Keith says. _“I’ll see you in like, two minutes.”_

                “Mmhmm!”

                Keith flashes one last smile down at his camera before he cuts off the call. Lance promptly sleeps his phone and flings it across the room, onto Keith’s bed, and then buries his face in his hands once more, rolls over until his face and hands are pressed against the mattress, and screams.

                He finishes up his screaming about the same time the elevator dings, just outside the door, and moments later, the knob turns, and Keith steps into the room, a blast of cold air from the hallway following him.

                “Hey St—Lance?”

                Keith sets his bag down and slowly shrugs off his jacket (read: Lance’s jacket, mysteriously missing from its hanger when Lance went to go put it on), eying Lance’s form, still face-down on the mattress.

                Lance raises his head with a small measure of hesitation, tears prominent on his cheeks.

                “Lance,” Keith whispers, voice close to an exhale, and his movements quicken. He kicks off his shoes and climbs onto Lance’s bed, and Lance flings himself at Keith, wraps tight arms around him and practically squeezes the life out of him.

                “I love you,” Lance says into Keith’s neck, while Keith hugs Lance in return, holds him close. “Thank you. Thank you.”

                “Always,” Keith promises. “I’ve got you, and you’ve got me.”

                He runs fingers up and down Lance’s spine, while Lance settles down, sniffles and smiles as Keith holds him.

                “I love you so much,” Lance keeps going, voice softer. “I’m so lucky. I’m so thankful. I’m glad I looked past Edgy Keith and Emo Keith and got past your walls, I’m so grateful to know you for _you_ and not who you want people to see, I’m so blessed to have the sweetest boy in the world...I’m so…I’m glad I get to have this.”

                “Hey, no, stop that.” Keith’s voice grows hoarse, and now _his_ eyes mist. “We’re focused on you right now.”

                “I’m capable of multitasking,” Lance replies.

                Lance draws back and cups Keith’s face in his hands, but doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, his eyes rove over the rest of Keith’s face. He raises a hand to Keith’s forehead and pushes his bangs back.

                “You are...a _wonder_. Most beautiful boy in the universe,” Lance says. “Inside and out.”

                Keith places a hand over Lance’s, the other still on Lance’s back.

                “Nah,” Keith says, “I think you’re talking about yourself.”

                He studies Lance’s face in return; his eyes drift down to Lance’s mouth, and Lance’s breath hitches—he must’ve followed Keith’s gaze. Keith finally looks up, and silently poses the question with a raise of his eyebrows. Lance nods slowly.

                “Let me...let me just…”

                He takes his time, leaning in. Keith closes his eyes and hands himself over to Lance, as Lance kisses his now-exposed forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the corners of his mouth, and then trails down to his jaw.

                “Oh, come _on_ ,” Keith mutters, breaths shaking.

                Lance pauses just long enough to look at Keith, whose eyes are still closed.

                “Patience, young Padawan,” Lance says, and Keith’s eyes finally open.

                “I’m no Padawan,” he says. “Grey Jedi or bust.”

                And to prove his point, he takes Lance’s face into his hands and kisses him on the mouth. Regardless of their banter, Keith is slow and gentle, and hands the lead back over to Lance immediately. He keeps their careful pace, draws every last touch between them out for as long as he can.

                Each time one pulls back, even slightly, the other draws them back in. Keith’s arms wind around Lance’s neck, and Lance wraps his around Keith’s back, until their chests are flush against each others’. Keith leans back and takes Lance down onto the mattress with him, and their lips part only enough for them to both grunt, for them to still smile at each other, and then Keith brings their mouths back together.

                They roll over, until they’re both on their sides. Lance breaks the kiss again and presses his forehead against Keith’s.

                “You feeling better?” Keith asks.

                Lance sighs, smiling. “I suppose.”

                “There he is.” Keith’s expression softens. “I love you, Lance. More than anything. No matter what happens, it’s you and me.”

                “Us against the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> susan...THEY'RE IN LOVE, SUSAN


	42. fucking perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance are in Love, susan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna post this friday but this week has kicked my ass
> 
> [quiet chanting] _just one more week till break just one more week till break just one more--_
> 
> **EDIT: YEAH HI IT'S NERDYSPACEACE I CHANGED MY HANDLE ON ALL MY SOCIAL MEDIA I'M ASTRALSCRIVENER PRETTY MUCH EVERYWHERE NOW, NERDYSPACEACE NOW LEADS TO BACKUP ACCOUNTS...EXCEPT ON SPOTIFY, NERDYSPACEACE IS MY MAIN BC SPOTIFY WON'T LET ME CHANGE IT.**   
>  **TL;DR: NERDYSPACEACE >>>>>>>>> ASTRALSCRIVENER**

                With the band performing on the first floor of the Student Union food court, most of the people here get distracted—nobody pays any mind to the back corner, to the sofas and tables making up the mini lounge. Nobody sees Keith, sitting back on the couch with Lance kneeling, straddling his lap and cradling his face.

                “I love you,” Lance whispers between one deep kiss and the next, stroking thumbs along Keith’s cheekbones, while Keith’s hands steady Lance, wrapped around his waist to keep him from falling off of him and the couch. “Fucking perfect.” Another kiss. “Love of my life.” Keith’s face burns. “My soulmate.” His eyes burn, too.

                He cuts Lance off this time by pulling him back in the second he starts to pull away, wrapping his arms tighter around the small of Lance’s back. Lance tilts his head to fit his mouth better against Keith’s, humming contentedly. Instead of breaking every few seconds for air, Lance breathes through his nose this time, tickling Keith’s upper lip. Keith responds in kind by running a hand underneath Lance’s shirt, up his spine, and pressing him closer.

                “You know,” Lance murmurs, drawing back, “I’d rather feel your actual hand than your glove.”

                He speaks of the leather, fingerless gloves Keith never leaves the dorm without. He insists they’re for safety, insists he gets a better grip on things with them, but they just mean less of Keith for Lance to feel.

                He wiggles out of Keith’s grasp and rolls over, landing on the couch in the space next to Keith. Keith watches curiously as Lance takes one of his hands between both of his and clasps it. He raises an eyebrow, and tips his chin, and meets Lance’s eyes.

                “See?” Lance says. “Can’t feel you.”

                Gingerly, he undoes the strap at the bottom of Keith’s glove, and then slowly tugs it off. He sets it down on his lap, and then squeezes Keith’s hand again.

                “Now I can feel you.”

                Keith reddens as Lance brings his hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the backs of his knuckles. His hand goes limp, surrenders completely to Lance’s will as Lance turns it over and then kisses Keith’s palm, the pad of each finger.

                “You’re going to be the death of me,” Keith mutters, because if he tries to speak any louder, he’s certain his voice will crack, and then anyone sitting nearby might hear it and look up and see them, and he’s content with keeping everyone around them oblivious. He likes these moments; just him and Lance, no grand displays or theatrics.

                Just his fiancé, being far too affectionate for his health.

                “At least it’ll be a nice way to go out,” Lance replies. “And speaking of _going out..._ we could go back to the dorm and pick things up there.”

                His eyes are soft, as he laces one hand with Keith’s.

                “You sure? It’s barely eleven,” Keith says, and Lance nods.

                “Today kicked my ass. I just want to spend the rest of the night with you.”

                There’s not a bone in Keith’s body capable of disagreeing.

                “Alright, then let’s go.”

                They release hands as they rise, and shrug on their jackets and take up their umbrellas, prep to face the rain blasting the windows, start toward the door. Lance’s arm finds Keith’s shoulder, while Keith’s winds around Lance’s waist and pulls him close.

                “So here’s the plan,” Lance says, stopping just before the doors. “We walk in this mess, we shower, and _then_ we watch Buzzfeed Unsolved. All warm in our pajamas and in a blanket fort. And then we cuddle until we fall asleep.”

                “I like this plan,” Keith says. “Shower together?”

                Lance grins. “If you think we can sneak that past the other guys on the floor, then yes.”

                Keith grins back. “Challenge accepted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see ya later, stan [deceit so natural](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406)


	43. been dizzy half the day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so maybe keith's coming down with something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might have overexaggerated my symptoms a little but Uh Yeah the world has been a lil fuzzy lately i think i'm getting sick
> 
> anyway

                The pressure in his head has only worsened in the last several hours, and the walk from his late class back to the dorm is his tipping point.

                “Lance...stop, stop—”

                Keith stumbles, hands flying out to grip the bench they walk past. His head swims, throbs painfully. He blinks; momentarily, his vision blacks out, and he’s too busy paying attention to that to register Lance, rushing to support him. Steady hands hold him at his waist and ease him onto the bench, while Keith breathes heavily, deep and slow.

                “Keith?”

                Keith shuts his eyes as Lance sits down next to him, and doesn’t throw an arm around him. He waits and presses their shoulders together as a reminder that he’s there, he’s there and not going anywhere. Keith reaches out for his hand; Lance takes him up without question, intertwining their fingers and squeezing.

                “Keith, talk to me.”

                Keith shakes his head, while Lance reaches an ice-cold hand out and touches his forehead.

                “Mm...no fever…”

                Lance’s hand falls back down to his side with a swish, as his arm rubs against his side. He keeps squeezing Keith’s hand in a rhythm, drawing his attention, making it easier to even out his breathing.

                “Just...been feeling weird,” Keith admits on an exhale. “I think I’m getting sick.”

                He still doesn’t open his eyes as a cold wind cuts through the area and ruffles his bangs, threatens to knock his beanie off his head. He leans in closer to Lance, face scrunching up as pain shoots up the back of his head, spreads through his neck and shoulders. It’s more than sickness—there must be tension in there, too, but Keith can’t identify the source.

                “Been dizzy half the day.”

                “Babe…” A hand on Keith’s cheek turns his head to the side, a forehead pressing against his forces him to open his eyes; when he does, Lance is staring at him, silently searching him, like he can find the problems by just looking into his eyes. “Can you make it back to the dorm?”

                _I’m gonna have to,_ Keith thinks, and makes himself nod, makes himself stand back up on shaking legs. Where before Lance only held his hand, he now keeps a tight arm around Keith’s waist, supporting his weight. It would appear like a casual lovers’ hold to anyone walking by, and Keith appreciates it to no end.

                He hates being seen as weak, hates being seen as helpless, and Lance knows it. Works around it.

                Keith brings his arm around Lance’s shoulder and does his best not to drag his feet.

                Lance keeps their pace slow as they fight against bitter winds, making it appear as though they’re just trying to take their time and bask in the other’s warmth, and Keith nearly cries. His eyes burn and the headache worsens, but nobody can see the way his brain wants to break free of his skull and he can just blame any tears on the stinging wind.

                “Almost there,” Lance murmurs periodically, as he navigates their path through the dark campus, as though Keith hasn’t memorized the path back to the dorm by now, but Keith just nods again. Truthfully, he needs to hit the dining hall, needs a little bit more food in his system before he turns in for the night. He’ll tell Lance when they get there, tell him before they can get into their residence hall.

                “Okay,” he mumbles weakly.

                Things were fine earlier in the day, when he spent his time covering. But now that Lance knows, now that someone has his back and is taking care of him, Keith’s dizziness intensifies. The headache pushes at every inch of his skull, and just two minutes away from the dorm, Keith has to stop again.

                He stops right before the crosswalk in front of their quad, drags Lance over to a low brick wall and sits, vision swimming. His throat goes dry while his stomach churns and his legs wobble, and he wishes more than anything he’d had some basic common sense and brought _water_ with him—

                And then there’s a bottle of water in front of his face.

                “You’re going to pass out,” Lance whispers, crouching in front of Keith, leveling concerned eyes. “Don’t pass out on me. C’mon.”

                Keith decides then that angels exist, and this one roams the Earth and somehow deals with him on the daily.

                Shaking fingers take the bottle from Lance’s hand, and Keith takes a few sips before he decides it’s enough. He hands it back, and Lance caps it and puts it away. He rises to full height, while Keith stays bent over with his arms braced on his thighs, taking a few more minutes to get himself together. When he’s ready, he takes it slowly. Lance holds him around the waist again, and they walk at an even more snail-like pace than before.

                “Dining hall...I need to eat,” Keith mutters.

                “You sure?” Lance asks. “We can figure out how to order out. I can bring you back food. You don’t—”

                “I’m sure.”

                That settles it. The rest of Lance’s protests die in the back of his throat as they cross the street, and then carefully ascend the steep staircase leading up to the residence halls that make up the quad. One of Keith’s legs nearly gives out when they’ve almost reached the top step, and if not for Lance, Keith is sure that he would have fallen.

                “Stay with me here,” Lance mutters under his breath.

                Lamplight guides their way up the rest of the hill to the dining hall, on the far end of the quad. Keith shivers by the time they get there, full-body tremors that he barely suppresses in front of the student swiping people in.

                Lance notices, and holds Keith tighter.

                He holds Keith all the way until they get to an empty table and set their things down. He releases Keith slowly, watches as Keith braces a hand on the tabletop and takes a minute to breathe. Then Keith shrugs off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves, reaches up, and ties his hair back, revealing a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck.

                “Keith,” Lance says softly, and takes his hand when Keith’s done.

                Keith meets his eyes; he looks like he wants to say more, but nothing comes. Instead, he wordlessly begins pulling Keith over to the food lines, and keeps squeezing out that steady beat on his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright time to go do my [stats homework](https://goo.gl/forms/6auBVknvkCf6Dr2n1)
> 
> stay safe kids, take ur meds, eat ur fluids, drink ur food, get some sleep, stay in school
> 
> later h8ers


	44. made for the weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance has some thoughts on keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no i definitely wasn't thinking about this yesterday on the walk from my univ back to my dorm, while everything was pale and cold and the snow was slowly closing in what are you talking about pffff they don't...rule my life or anything...

                “You were made for this weather, you know.”

                It’s not exactly what Keith expects to hear as he and Lance walk back to their dorm. It’s far too cold to hold hands, especially when neither of them thought to carry actual winter gloves to their last class, before the rest of the day got cancelled. Instead, they jam their hands into their pockets, arms tightly linked.

                “What do you mean?”

                Keith cocks his head and immediately regrets it, as he exposes a tiny gap between his neck and scarf that the cold immediately seeps into. He buries his chin back into the folds of his scarf and thinks back two hours ago, to the wrestling match that it took for Lance to get the scarf around his neck in the first place, and regrets ever fighting him in the first place.

                “You know.”

                Lance purposely nudges him and sends them veering off-course for a moment, before Keith rights them.

                “No, I really don’t.”

                “Really?”

                Lance nods to the gray skies stretching out around them, snow clouds blocking out the sun. It _smells_ like snow—in a matter of hours, campus will be covered. As it is, a gray-blue sheen settles over the place, everything somehow seeming sharper.

                “I mean, look at yourself. Like...I dunno. It’s like you belong in winter. Or like, an ice kingdom or something. Like...hm.”

                Lance stares at Keith as they walk along, leaving Keith to guide them back to the dorm without accidentally walking Lance into a lamppost. Or letting him stumble and fall off the sidewalk. Or walk into another student, even though campus is slowly emptying, and most students are headed back to their dorms before the storm sets in.

                “So, what? Am I Elsa, then?” Keith jokes.

                Lance snorts. “I mean...no, not really. You two look nothing alike, though I’m sure you could pull off her ice dress if you really put your mind to it.”

                Keith shoves Lance to the side, and ends up getting dragged over with him. Lance laughs, and the sound warms Keith from the inside out, despite the frigid temperatures.

                “So then what do you mean?” he asks, and pulls Lance closer to him again, close enough for him to lean his head on Lance’s shoulder. Lance leans his head on top of Keith’s almost immediately, and the warmth spreads further through Keith.

                “I mean, like...you just _fit._ It looks right. Like...this whole thing is a painting. And you’re the focal point.”

                Keith groans, and Lance squeezes his arm. “Why do you say stuff like that?”

                “Because I can,” Lance replies. “Do you know how long it took me to get over the fact that I actually got to flirt with you? And then you became my boyfriend and I could do it all the time? And now we’re gonna get married and I can do this _forever?_ And you’re actually just a big ol’ dork and not some untouchable god or something?”

                Keith’s face flushes deep red. At first he thinks that maybe he can blame it on the cold, but Lance glances down at him and the grin on his face deepens, and Keith loses his chance. He resigns himself to his cheeks burning, resigns himself to the herd of butterflies in his stomach fluttering frantically.

                “Untouchable god, huh? And you really spent years trying to piss me off?” he asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, and it works.

                It’s Lance’s turn to groan.

                “Listen,” he says, “freshman and sophomore Lance was a baby bi. He knew he had the capacity to like boys, but didn’t know how the hell to react to having a real crush on one. Let alone one who seemed to be good at everything and not care about other what other people thought. He was terrible at communication and was panicking twenty-four-seven.”

                “Well, at least he’s improved,” Keith responds. “He got college Lance to where he is now: a confident, adult bi with a fiancé who loves him more than anything.”

                Just the word has Keith smiling like an idiot, a dizzy sort of love washing over him, and he relies on Lance to keep him upright.

                “Hey, you’ve got one of those too,” Lance says.

                A chilly wind cuts across campus, prevents Lance from speaking further as he bows his head, Keith mirroring his motions, bringing a hand up to keep his hat on his head, while the hood of Lance’s jacket blows clean off.

                Never do they let go of each other.

                “I do,” Keith says. “And I’m hoping he’s willing to cuddle when we get back to the dorm, because _holy shit_.”

                “Always up for cuddles,” Lance says into his scarf, and quickens his pace. “Faster we get there, faster you’re in my arms.”

                “Can’t argue with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really sittin alone in my dorm in the dark crying and listening to sleeping at last's christmas album and thinking about kl wrow


	45. make it count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~play it straight don't look back don't hesitate--~~ keith and lance cuddle on the last day before break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys i'm home now so i'm gonna kick nanowrimo in the ASS i'm currently 10k under par but i'm used to writing at this desk (ah...this desk...where a large majority of dsn happened...i'm pretty sure i wrote That Line at the end of chapter 33 of sgd at this desk...good times, man) so like
> 
> this is my lil niche this is where i produce my best content so hopefully expect more and without further delay here's the snippet

                Keith and Lance decide to kill the hour before Lance’s sister shows up to take him home by cuddling; neither objects, what with the plunging temperatures outside, the snow on the ground, the dark of their room. Dim light filters in through the window as the sun sets on the other side of their residence hall, while they listen along to one of Lance’s softer, instrumental playlists.

                “What time’s Shiro supposed to be getting you?” Lance asks quietly.

                He holds Keith around the waist, a blanket draped over his shoulders and spilling over the both of them. He settles his chin on top of Keith’s head, while Keith relaxes against his chest, hands splayed over Lance’s.

                “Like, six,” Keith answers.

                Lance sighs. “Y’know, Em probably hasn’t left yet. We could still take you home. We’re literally going to the same town.”

                Keith shakes his head. “Nah, it’s okay. We’ve got too much stuff to fit it all and both of us in Em’s car, and I think my mom and Shiro need some time with me when you’re not there. Not to say I _don’t_ want you there, but…”

                “I know, I know. Last time we went home I was still there, I got it,” Lance says, and his chin weighs more heavily. “Gonna be kinda weird, sleeping apart for the first time in like, what, three months?”

                “Mmm.”

                “You gonna be okay?” Lance’s voice drops as he asks the question.

                “I mean...I’ve slept alone before,” Keith says, but he’s still hesitant, as he thinks on the last three months, the security of Lance either behind him or in his arms, the nights he woke up in cold sweats and had Lance there, the nights he woke up crying and Lance dried his tears—

                _Cut the codependence, Kogane._

                “Yeah,” Keith finally gives a forward answer. “I’ll be alright.” He peers up at Lance as best he can. “Will you?”

                And this time, he thinks on the nights Lance needed comfort, the nights he became an anxiety-riddled mess, uncharacteristically quiet, seeking nothing but Keith’s steady embrace. He recalls the nights shortly before move-in of Lance having several breakdowns, recalls his family and the stress of college crashing down on him.

                “Yeah,” Lance says. “Don’t worry about me, Mullet. I’ll be okay. Besides, we’ve got the cats. And it’s only a week.”

                “We’re not even gonna make it a full week,” Keith says. “Mark my words, we’ll be sleeping together at least once before Thanksgiving, and Thanksgiving night I’m coming over again. Shiro’s got another opening shift at Target, and I wanna see your family.”

                “Good. They always look forward to seeing you.”

                Keith’s chest aches at that, at the memories of the holidays last year, surrounded by Lance’s family, surrounded by warmth and love and the hugs that he received and the feeling of _acceptance_ that washes over him every time he sets foot in the McClain house.

                The same acceptance he feels when he’s with Lance.

                They fall into silence after that, save for Lance’s occasional humming along to his music as they lean back against Lance’s pillow nest, Lance’s packed bags lining the floor next to the bed. Keith savors every second that Lance holds him, because neither of them took the time to do so in the morning, and now Keith regrets it.

                “Kiss me?” he asks quietly, and turns to look at Lance.

                Lance returns his glance, as Keith turns over so they’re face-to-face, chest-to-chest. He adjusts, until he’s in Lance’s lap, with Lance’s arms around the small of his back. He cups Lance’s face with as light a touch as he can manage.

                “Not gonna be separated forever,” Keith mumbles, “but make it count.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last 36 hours has just consisted of me playing soft christmas songs (mostly sleeping at last) and crying about kl, how are u guys


	46. let him eat his lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith goes to the mcclain house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nanowrimo is kicking my ass pls send help before i wave my white flag for the first time in five years

                They don’t even last two full days.

                In Keith’s defense, Lance claims it was his mom’s idea. It certainly seems that way when Mrs. McClain beats her youngest child to the front door, and sweeps Keith into a crushing hug, simultaneously ushering him inside and out of the cold. Keith practically melts in the embrace of his not-quite-yet mother-in-law.

                “Keith, mijo, it’s so good to see you again,” she says like she didn’t just see him three weeks ago at his birthday celebration, but Keith doesn’t call her out. He smiles and closes his eyes and takes in the smells of his second home, cooking wafting all the way from the kitchen.

                “You too, Mom,” Keith mumbles into her shoulder.

                “KEITH!”

                Mrs. McClain sighs at the same time that Keith laughs, as footsteps thunder down the stairs. Mrs. McClain releases Keith as Lance leaps off of the last step and barrels into him, and wraps tight arms around him. Keith returns the hug in earnest, settling his chin on the slope between Lance’s shoulder and neck.

                “It was barely a day—”

                “I still _missed you,_ Mullet!”

                “He did,” Mrs. McClain confirms, when Lance lets go of his fiancé, save for an arm around his shoulders. “You should’ve seen him this morning. Looked very confused when he woke up alone.”

                Lance groans. “It wasn’t...that bad.”

                Mrs. McClain shoots a pointed look in his direction.

                “I swear!”

                “Sure it wasn’t,” she responds. “Lancito, let Keith take off his coat and stay a while. Keith, cariño, there’s food in the kitchen. Come get something to eat, I’m sure Shiro’s cooking doesn’t live up to the dining hall, if what Lance has been telling me is true.”

                Keith snorts. “Lance roasted, Shiro roasted, and I’m getting food.” His smile softens. “I really missed the McClain house.”

                While three weeks ago, he might have stopped home for his birthday, he spent it back in his own house. A trip to the McClain house fell through, and being here now...a few of the cracks inside of Keith fill and bleed back together, whole and warm.

                Keith shrugs out of his jacket, and Lance swoops in to take it. For a moment, he holds it up and eyes it, squinting, bringing his face close enough to _sniff it._

                “That one’s mine, I swear,” Keith says.

                Lance looks up at him long enough to smirk. “Mine now.”

                “ _Lancito!_ ”

                Lance ducks his head and darts up the stairs with Keith’s jacket, while Keith laughs and heads into the kitchen, and takes up a seat at the island. His eyes sweep over the kitchen, and spot a large pot resting over flame—some kind of stew cooking, from the scent of it.

                “It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Mrs. McClain acknowledges without turning around. “You’re having some.”

                Keith smiles. “I won’t argue on that.”

                “Good boy, you’ve learned. If only Alejandro could have learned…” Mrs. McClain shakes her head at the same time that Lance comes back down the stairs and enters the kitchen.

                “Why are we speaking of the devil?”

                He drapes himself around Keith’s back, arms loose around his neck. Keith wraps hands around Lance’s wrists as Lance sets his chin on top of Keith’s head.

                “Keith understands I’m just trying to make sure he’s well-fed, and he doesn’t argue with me. Not like your brother. Or _you,_ for that matter.” Mrs. McClain turns around only momentarily to point a ladle in Lance’s direction before reaching for the cabinets. She pulls out a bowl and a spoon, and scoops some of the stew out of the pot and into the bowl.

                “Me?” Lance questions in mock hurt. “I’m a _perfect_ son, thank you!”

                Keith snorts again as Mrs. McClain sets the full bowl and spoon down in front of him.

                “Thanks,” he says with a smile toward Lance’s mother. She merely smiles back and returns to the stove and cabinets, begins pulling out other bowls and ingredients, a recipe book sitting open, propped up against the wall.

                “So how’s school going?” Mrs. McClain asks.

                Keith shrugs, not that she can see it. “It’s...school, I guess. Goin’ alright.”

                If he had a dollar for every time he’s heard that question since arriving home Friday night, he would be rich. Shiro, his own mother, every last one of the Holt family members, one of the regular cashiers at the grocery store…

                “Are you enjoying it?”

                This time, Keith pauses with the spoon halfway to his mouth, and slowly lowers it. “Uh, yeah.”

                Besides being half an hour away from friends and family, there’s really not much for Keith to _not_ like. The dining hall food doesn’t suck, walking to his classes gives him an excuse to be outdoors, and he gets to room with Lance. The two of them, trying to adult together. Spending time together in the mornings and at the end of the day. Intimacy away from prying eyes.

                “Good, I’m glad to hear it. And the Fine Arts thing is working out well?”

                Keith doesn’t even remember telling Mrs. McClain that. He must’ve, or maybe Shiro mentioned it. Either way, she clearly knows and clearly _cares_ about the inner turmoil that threatened to kill him just before the semester started.

                “Oh, yeah. That’s working out really well, actually. I’m...I picked the right thing. I’m enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would.”

                And right after that statement, he slurps up a few spoonfuls of stew, before Lance’s mother can get another question in. The whole time, Lance stands behind Keith, still with his chin on his head and arms around his neck.

                “Good to hear. I was worried about you, I won’t lie. I’m glad you’re doing well now,” Mrs. McClain says, and then begins humming, seemingly halting the conversation there as she sets to work on whatever else she’s making this afternoon.

                Keith continues on with his stew, while Lance makes the shift from being draped all over him to sitting down in the chair on his right. He leans an arm on the counter and props his head on his fist, and watches Keith intently.

                “Can I help you?” Keith asks.

                Lance shakes his head. “Nah. This is just fine.”

                “You’re not gonna fluster me that easily.” Keith continues on eating his stew, while Lance narrows his eyes.

                “You’re blushing.”

                “...No?”

                “You are.”

                Lance reaches a hand out and cups Keith’s cheek. Keith tries to duck his head, but sure enough, his skin burns. Lance smirks, while Keith bats his hand away.

                “Let me eat.”

                “Let him eat, Lance,” Mrs. McClain agrees with a glance over her shoulder.

                “What? I’m not allowed to admire my fiancé?”

                Keith groans and shoves his bowl aside, and buries his face in his arms as he slumps over the island. Lance scoots his chair closer and places a hand on the back of Keith’s head, and runs fingers through his hair.

                “He’s trying to eat his lunch,” Mrs. McClain says.

                “No, no...it’s fine,” Keith mutters.

                Because truthfully, it is. Keith doesn’t mind taking his time eating, taking his time resting in the McClain house, letting the familiarity drape over him like a blanket.

                “Are you sleeping over tonight?” Lance’s mother asks.

                “Yep...ah, if you don’t mind.”

                “You know you’re always welcome here, Keith. Just let yourself in any time.”

                Keith blows out a breath through his nose and smiles again, just as something rubs up against his foot. He spins in his chair and glances down, smile widening.

                “Hey, Blue.”

                He stands, bends down, and scoops up Lance’s cat into his arms, while Lance leans back and watches them, smile softening.

                It’s the first time Keith’s seen Blue outside of photographs and videos since the summer, since before departing for college. Blue purrs, cozying up against Keith’s chest as Keith holds her, as he runs a thumb along the top of her head.

                Keith missed this, will miss this when he goes back up to Arus in a week—the hominess, the coziness of this house, these people. The scent of food cooking on the stove, and the candles burning elsewhere in the house. And for the moment he lets himself bask in it and reminds himself that this will always be here, always ready for him to come back to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [lies on the floor in a puddle of my own tears] _writing is haaaaaaaaaaaaaard_


	47. keith why are you just now realizing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith comes to a startling realization on the way home from lance's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight so basically this chapter begins thanksgiving morning, keith slept over at lance's and now lance is driving him home

                Keith comes to his startling realization in the middle of Lance driving him home.

                He shouldn’t be thinking about this, shouldn’t be worrying about this on the ride _away_ from Lance’s house, when he won’t be back till late in the afternoon. But his eyes drift to Lance’s engagement ring, on the hand casually resting on the steering wheel as Lance navigates the neighborhood, and Keith suddenly puts the pieces together and groans. Loudly.

                “Oh _no_ , no, no, _no_.”

                He rubs over his face with his free hand, while he squeezes slightly with the one wrapped around Lance’s, resting on his thigh. Lance glances at him out of the corner of his eye, eyebrows narrowing in concern.

                “Babe? You alright?”

                No, not really. And Keith expresses that much as he slowly shakes his head. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, and then leans back against the headrest. Lance runs a gentle thumb over Keith’s knuckles and keeps his eyes on the empty road as he weaves through the neighborhood, drawing closer and closer to Keith’s house.

                “I just... _gah_ , I just realized that I never...actually asked your parents their permission to marry you.” Keith’s voice drops off at the end of his statement, so quiet Lance barely hears him. He’s quiet for a moment, as he tries to piece together what Keith just said. Keith knows the moment he realizes, because his face slackens.

                “Dude.”

                And he laughs, almost incredulously as he pulls up in Keith’s driveway, and Keith can sink down in his seat in shame, tugging his hand out of Lance’s and pulling the hood of Lance’s jacket over his head.

                “Lance, I’m _serious_.”

                “I’m serious too!”

                Lance kills the engine and turns, bracing an arm on the back of his seat as he faces Keith.

                “We were _literally_ gonna go to Town Hall and get married and not tell anyone. Like, we were supposed to already be actual husbands right now. Like, the extended engagement was last-minute. I didn’t expect you to talk to my parents—”

                “But since the extended engagement _is_ a thing—”

                “They already approve, I don’t know what more you want!”

                “I don’t think your mom’s ever even given me the shovel talk!” Keith throws his hands up.

                Lance’s brow furrows. “You _want_ my mom to give you the shovel talk? _After_ we’ve been dating for over two and a half years? I don’t even think it’s necessary at this point.”

                “It _should be_ ,” Keith insists. “ _My_ mom gave _you_ the shovel talk like, ten minutes after meeting you! I just...I don’t know! It feels weird, like...we showed up at Allura’s, and it’s like, _hey, I proposed to your son while your back was turned!_ Like...I feel like I should have _some kind_ of talk with your mom. O-Or dad—”

                “My dad hasn’t come back from his business trip in three years. Not even for the Cuba trips. If he ever returns, I’ll let you know, and then you can talk to him all you want,” Lance interrupts. “And fine, if you wanna talk to my mom, then...I dunno, do it later?”

                Keith nods. “I’m gonna. ...And, uh, sorry, a-about bringing up your dad…how is he?”

                Lance shrugs, face falling. “Alright, I guess. He’s not due back for another two years, and...I dunno. It’s...not that important.”

                Keith frowns, sits up better in his seat, reaches out and cups Lance’s cheek. He traces a thumb down Lance’s face, and Lance closes his eyes and leans into Keith’s touch.

                “It’s okay,” Keith murmurs. “You’re okay. I’m sorry.”

                “It’s alright, you didn’t mean anything by it,” Lance responds quietly.

                For a few moments, they sit in silence in Lance’s car, and only look up when the front door creaks, and Shiro pokes his head out. Keith sighs again and leans in, until his forehead rests against Lance’s. Lance closes the distance and kisses Keith softly, slowly, savoring the touch before Keith finally draws back.

                “I’ll see you tonight,” he promises, hand still on Lance’s face.

                “Yeah,” Lance says. “Tell the Holts I say hi, kick Pidge’s ass in Space Defenders for me...and tell your mom and Shiro I say happy Thanksgiving.”

                “I will.” Keith lets his touch linger for a moment longer before he pulls away fully and opens the door, and steps out. He pauses just before shutting it, casts one last look at Lance. “I love you.”

                “I love you too,” Lance responds.

                Lance waits to back out and drive away until Keith gets in the door, and waves him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, getting to the part about lance's dad: ...holy shit. i've. literally never mentioned him. i've been writing this series for over a year and just. refused to mention him. outside of a generic "parents."
> 
> ya so lance's dad has been on a ~business trip~ for 3 years and lance doesn't like talking about it bc his dad never visits. like not even on holidays. or the cuba trips. all prior mentions of his "parents" going out of town was just so no one would question things. yes i am making shit up as i go along no i will not stop.
> 
> ANYHOO
> 
> aiming to make this a double upload day so...we'll see


	48. i believe you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith has a talk with mrs mcclain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really burst into tears while i wrote this and then i made my pal kelly cry when i showed her
> 
> n e ways today was,,, i guess i could consider it a "double upload" day even tho i posted the other chapter,,, many hours ago
> 
> so just double-check u read the chapter before this one too, it takes place earlier on the same day

                The idea eats at Keith all day.

                Thanksgiving dinner at the Holt house distracts him temporarily, as the Holts— both immediate family and extended— become more acquainted with Krolia, as Keith, Shiro, and Krolia work to explain where she’s been and what she’s been up to all this time. Video games afterward also keep his brain occupied for a little bit, as he destroys Matt and Shiro and narrowly falls to Pidge on Space Defenders.

                But it’s afterward, in the silence as he drives himself over to Lance’s house— _I’m leaving the Holts now, see you soon, love you_ , he’d texted Lance minutes ago—that his anxieties come flooding back. He has no reason to be anxious over this, if he’s being honest with himself. But that doesn’t mean it stops bothering him, now that he’s realized it.

                _How do you just FORGET to ask your boyfriend’s parents if you can make him your fiancé? That’s Dating 101._

                Keith scowls as he drives down the street, and parks on the side of the road, a few houses down from Lance’s, because Lance’s relatives’ cars clog the street and driveway much closer to the McClain residence. After he cuts the engine, he sits for a moment in silence, head resting on the steering wheel.

                He can’t just walk in and demand to have a private conversation with Mrs. McClain. She’s likely playing hostess, and it’ll probably be near-impossible to get her alone for a few minutes in a way that’s smooth. Or maybe it will be, and he’s just overthinking things, per the usual.

                The sound of his phone buzzing startles him, and he’s thankful his car’s already off, so his foot suddenly slamming into the gas does nothing. He glances down at the message lighting up his screen, as his phone rests on the otherwise-empty passenger seat.

 **starboy <3  
**is that u that just parked down the road

 **starboy <3  
**yep that’s ur license plate and ur mullet

                So he’s already been spotted.

                Keith releases the steering wheel and opens the door. He slides his phone into his pocket and jumps out of the car, and buries the lower half of his face in his scarf as a harsh wind blows his hair back, and bitter temperatures bite at his exposed skin.

                By the time he reaches the stretch of sidewalk in front of Lance’s house, there’s a figure bounding down the steps, muttering about _cold cold cold oh why did I think I would be fine oh God cold cold so cold_ as he leaps into the grass and takes off in Keith’s direction. Keith opens his arms just in time to catch Lance, as Lance buries himself in Keith’s jacket and scarf.

                “Why the hell aren’t you wearing a jacket?” Keith asks, holding Lance tightly as Lance shivers.

                “Because my house is _right there_ ,” Lance hisses, and starts shuffling in that direction. “I knew it was cold but I didn’t think it was _that bad_ —”

                “You had to _walk out to your car_ this morning!”

                “Yeah, and it was still early! I thought maybe it would warm up but apparently it got _colder!_ ”

                As they argue, they make their way across Lance’s lawn, up the steps, up to the door. Lance wrenches it open and ushers Keith inside in front of him a little more harshly than necessary, and then yanks the door shut behind them, deflating as the warmth of his house wraps back around him, while Keith unravels his scarf, shrugs off his jacket, and then carries them up the stairs to Lance’s room. Lance trails, and shoves Keith into a jog as voices start up down the stairs.

                “Just a sec!” Lance shouts over his shoulder.

                “Why are we hiding?” Keith whispers, as Lance gives one final push and then shuts his bedroom door, sealing himself and Keith off from the rest of the house.

                “So I might’ve tried to keep you coming a surprise to the rest of them,” Lance says. “My mom was the only one who knew, but apparently I wasn’t subtle enough in checking my phone when I was waiting for your _I’m on my way_ text. So. Yeah. Trying to save you from bombardment. Probably not gonna work. But also…”

                Keith sets his things down on the bed, watching Lance the whole time. Lance finally slows his movements, approaches Keith gently. Keith watches him all the way up until he’s nearly cross-eyed, as Lance gets right into his personal space, puts them nose-to-nose. He places hands on Keith’s hips and tugs him in closer, while Keith grips Lance by the biceps to steady them.

                “I wanted you first.” Lance’s voice drops. “You’re the person I’m the most thankful for.”

                “Didn’t you tell me that this morning?” Keith asks, as Lance leans in until their lips are practically touching.

                Lance’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Yeah, but...y’know, figured you could hear it again.”

                And he closes the distance.

                Lance’s mouth tastes strange—his family’s Thanksgiving dinner, mixed with what must be peppermint chapstick. Definitely peppermint—not spearmint, his other holiday season favorite. Regardless, Keith savors the flavor, takes his time kissing Lance. Lance seems to be in no rush either, gently tugging Keith closer and closer, until he can’t possibly move forward another inch.

                It’s easily the most relaxing part of Keith’s afternoon.

                Keith doesn’t have time to think after they break apart, and Lance leads him back downstairs. For a good hour and a half, Keith entertains Lance’s family, as he’s ushered into the seat next to Lance’s—conspicuously empty, despite the many people here. He answers questions about college: how it’s going, how the food is, how his majors are working out, what the professors are like, what it’s like dorming with Lance (and Keith roasts him to hell and back, earning indignation and a whole lot of Lance leaning up into his space to make a point).

                He compliments the food several times over, as relatives lay claim to the various dishes spread upon the table and boast their achievements, and then demand Keith tell them which dish was best (and Keith chooses Lance’s mother’s contributions, and good-naturedly gets called a kiss-ass by no fewer than four cousins, two aunts, and an uncle, not to mention half of Lance’s siblings).

                Nobody allows him to leave the table until he’s finished his plate, and even then, ongoing conversation keeps him glued to the spot until _finally_ Emely declares it’s time to start prepping for dessert, so the table needs clearing and resetting with the dessert plates and dishes (“And that means _you people_ ,” she’d said, pointing at Lance and the rest of his siblings, all of whom then groaned in unison).

                While Lance sets to clearing the table, he meets gazes with Keith. Keith gives him a hard, determined nod, and then strides into the kitchen after the adults, while Lance gets busy.

                “Hey, uh, Mrs. McClain?” Keith calls quietly, and breathes a quiet sigh of relief when most of the other adults merely drop off plates and then head into the living room. “Can I talk to you? Uh, privately?”

                Call it motherly senses or just sensitivity to the seriousness, the feebleness in Keith’s voice, but Mrs. McClain pauses and turns and studies Keith, features softening. She nods, and then motions Keith after her, toward the pantry at the back of the kitchen, a small, closet-sized space near the back door.

                “Is everything alright?” she asks.

                Keith nods, and flexes his fingers, at a loss for what to do with his hands. He ends up hooking his thumbs into the belt loops on his skinny jeans as he casts his gaze to the floor and bites his lip, and contemplates how to word this.

                “This is...gonna sound kinda weird, and it’s kinda late,” he admits. “I...wanna apologize first, actually.”

                “Apologize?” Mrs. McClain whispers, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

                Keith nods. “I...I’m sorry, that Lance and I sprang the, ah....the engagement on you. That’s my fault.”

                “Why apologize?” Mrs. McClain questions further, and even reaches out a hand and settles it on Keith’s shoulder.

                “Because,” Keith answers, and his tongue suddenly feels thick and clumsy in his mouth. He takes a moment to swallow, to compose himself, before going on. “I...I didn’t even ask. Your permission, I mean. I never came and asked if I could marry your son. And I should’ve.”

                “Oh, Keith,” Mrs. McClain mutters, and _tsks_. “You never needed to ask.”

                Keith’s eyes widen. “B-But—”

                “Lance is his own person, number one,” Mrs. McClain says, “and he’s _Lance_. If there’s something he really wants, or something he really has his heart set on, there’s no telling him no. He’ll find a way.”

                Keith sighs, chest clenching. “I-I know, but…I just...want your approval.”

                He didn’t expect to actually say it.

                And once he says it, he keeps going.

                “I care about Lance. A lot. More than anyone. People...people in the past kept telling us we were a bad idea together or that one of us was just going to end up hurting the other, but...I’d never hurt him. I-I just...wanted to let you know that. I’ve only ever had good intentions. I want to keep him safe, a-and cherish him, and—”

                “Keith,” Mrs. McClain interrupts when Keith’s eyes start misting. “Mijo, I believe you.”

                Keith blinks, blinks to force his eyes back into clarity. “I-I know, but he’s...he’s your youngest, and I feel like...I should’ve warned you beforehand. I—”

                “Keith, querido, you’ve always had my approval,” Mrs. McClain cuts him off more sternly this time, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re a good kid. And you’re good for Lance. There are few other people who make him light up the way you do, I can tell you that. I just want to see my children happy, and trust me when I tell you you’re his happiness.”

                Keith doesn’t know where he expected the conversation to go, but it wasn’t this.

                “But if you want to hear it clearly: yes, Keith. I give you permission to marry my son,” Mrs. McClain adds, and then drags him in for a hug. “Even though it’s truly not my call to make.”

                “Thank you,” Keith whispers, and only whispers because if his voice goes any higher, it’ll crack (maybe break, because Keith’s feeling particularly fragile at the moment, walls completely _gone,_ why the _hell_ does Lance’s family have this effect on him, it isn’t _fair_ ).

                Mrs. McClain doesn’t release him for a long time, but when she does, she swats him lightly. “Now, get out there and help the others. I’m sure there are still things to be cleared, and dessert still needs to be set up. And Ale! Marco! Enough trying to eavesdrop!”

                Keith whips toward the entrance to the pantry, where Alejandro and Marco, the youngest of Lance’s four older brothers, scramble away. Lance swats them as he passes by, and loops an arm around Keith’s waist, dragging him into the kitchen as he carries a stack of plates.

                “Things go okay?” Lance asks in a low voice, and Keith steals another glance at Mrs. McClain, as she chews out Alejandro and Marco. Then he turns back toward Lance and nods. Kisses his cheek.

                “Perfectly fine.”

                Lance snorts. “Knew it. You had nothing to worry about. My mom has as much trouble telling you _no_ as she does Blue, and Blue’s her favorite member of the household.”

                Despite his joking tone, he levels soft eyes at Keith. They convey everything he _doesn’t_ say, everything about _I know you were scared_ and _I know people gave us shit before_ and _no matter what, I would have backed you if things went south_.

                “Lance! Keith! Dessert won’t serve itself!” Veronica purposely pushes between them at that moment, and turns and flashes a wink, before carrying on. Keith rolls his eyes and grins, as he opens up the cabinet with the dessert plates, while Lance grumbles and gets to work on scrubbing the dishes in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well
> 
> i'm going to bed now
> 
> stan [kelly's youtuber fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625756/chapters/38974370#workskin) she just updated today
> 
> aight bye


	49. welcome back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance move back in...for like two and a half weeks before they leave again (ft. broganes!!! love those funky brothers. bROTHERS. BrOtHeRs.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna do stats homework today
> 
> i didn't do stats homework today

                Being stuck in traffic made a half hour drive an hour, and by the time Keith gets to the dorm, he’s exhausted and irritated and just wants to be in and unpacked and unwind before dinner. As soon as he stops outside of the door, the knob turns, and the door flings open.

                No greeting, other than a bright smile and steady arms drawing Keith into a warm hug. Keith sags against Lance and buries his face in the slope of his neck and shoulder, and for a moment all they do is stand in the doorway holding each other. The chill of the air outside melts away in Lance’s embrace, and despite the crappy afternoon, Keith allows a smile of his own to tug up the ends of his mouth.

                “Hi baby,” Lance whispers, and pulls back just the slightest, enough to look at Keith and take in the flush on his face from the cold, his mussed bangs from falling asleep in the car on the way up, the rings underneath his eyes from probably (read: definitely) staying up late the night before, packing up at the last minute.

                “Hi,” Keith responds. “Shiro’s out in the lot if you wanna help bring some stuff up...I’ve got like three more bags and I’d really like cuddles as soon as possible.”

                “Of course,” Lance responds. “I wanna cuddle you as soon as possible, so that works.”

                Lance cups the side of Keith’s face and kisses his cheek, and then lets him go and ducks back into the dorm. Keith follows, wheeling in a suitcase. While Lance slides on shoes, Keith hauls the suitcase on top of his bed, and then drops his backpack and laptop bag on top.

                “So how _are_ things at the Brogane residence?” Lance asks, and jogs down the stairwell with Keith in tow. “Your mom doing okay? What about Red and Black?”

                “They’re alright,” Keith says. “Woke up this morning to a dog licking my face.”

                Lance almost trips down the last two flights of stairs. Keith lunges and catches his arm at the same time Lance grips the railing and stops dead, panting. Then he whips around and looks at Keith.

                “What do you _mean_ you woke up to a dog licking your face?”

                “I _mean_ my mom found a stray and let him in. No collar, no one asking around the neighborhood. She should be at the vet right now getting him checked out, and she wants to keep him,” Keith answers, and pushes Lance back into motion, while Lance sputters.

                “You...you literally have two cats! And your mom wants to add a _dog_ into the mix?!”

                He pauses at the bottom of the stairs and stares, while Keith takes his hand and pulls him out to the lot behind their residence hall; sure enough, Shiro’s digging the last of Keith’s bags out of the trunk. He looks up and waves when he spots Keith and Lance leaving the res hall.

                “To be fair,” Keith says, “the dog gets along _great_ with the cats, and he’s cute. He’s just a puppy.”

                “Oh my God, you’re actually on board with it, why am I not surprised?” Lance mutters, and shakes his head. “We’re not done with this conversation.”

                “Sure we are,” Keith says. “Shiro! It’s your favorite brother-in-law!”

                “You mean the reason I have to beg you to sleep at home for once?” Shiro teases, and hands off the heaviest bag to Keith, who grunts under its weight and shoots Shiro a glare, knowing full well this one is the worst. “Hey, Lance. Not like I didn’t see you a couple days ago or anything.”

                “Nah,” Lance says. “What’s up, man?”

                Shiro hands off the lightest of the bags to Lance. “Not much. Same old. Almost got killed by some guy trying to buy a TV on Black Friday, Matt lost three more bets to Olia in the span of four hours, the usual.”

                “Classic,” Lance agrees.

                Shiro shuts the trunk, while Lance leads the group back into the residence hall, into the elevator, and back up to Lance and Keith’s room. Lance sets his bag gently on Keith’s empty desk chair, Shiro opts to place his on the bed, and Keith dumps his—a bag full of sweaters—onto the floor and flops down onto it.

                “Nobody talk to me for three hundred years.”

                “Oh, come on, you weren’t even the one driving,” Shiro says, and extends a hand to help him up.

                Keith swats it.

                “You wouldn’t _let me!_ ”

                “Your road rage is terrible! You would’ve killed someone!” Shiro protests, while Keith flips him the bird.

                “How bad _was_ the traffic?” Lance asks. “I got a couple Snapchats from Keith where he looked like he wanted to die, but…”

                “Awful,” Shiro answers, and takes a seat on top of Keith’s desk. “One accident, delays for fucking _miles._ Just about right after we got on the highway.”

                “Told him to take the back roads and he said no, because _it’ll clear up, Keith! It won’t be that bad in a few miles Keith!_ Look where it got us, Granola Bar!” Keith shouts, and sits up just to give another pointed glare.

                “Okay, so I was wrong!”

                “ _I HAD TO GO TO THE BATHROOM FOR THREE EXITS!_ ”

                “Lance didn’t need to know that,” Shiro deadpans.

                “Lance is immune to weird Keith things,” Lance responds, and offers a hand to Keith that he takes. “Did you at least get to pee?”

                “Yeah, after twenty-seven minutes of pure _agony_ ,” Keith answers, standing up and brushing dirt from his pants.

                _Another_ pointed look at Shiro.

                Shiro throws his hands up. “I told you to go when we left the house!”

                “I didn’t have to go then!”

                “We’re not having this conversation,” Shiro decides then.

                “Good!” Keith agrees.

                “I’m going to leave now,” Shiro says. “I already checked while you were up here, probably making out with Lance or something, all your stuff’s been cleared out, you left nothing behind.”

                “We were just _hugging_ ,” Keith groans. “We don’t make out all the time, I don’t know _where_ you even got that impression to begin with.”

                “You find out a lot on meet the teacher night,” Shiro says wistfully. “And a lot you wish you didn’t.”

                Lance snorts, while Keith buries his face in his hands to smother his screams.

                “Anyway, like I said, I’m going home, hopefully the ride back isn’t as awful as the ride up,” Shiro says, and hugs Lance first. “Be good. Be nice to him or I have to kill you.”

                “Always,” Lance says. “Pet the cats for me, tell them I love them.”

                “Noted. Keith?”

                Keith sighs and opens up his arms, and hugs Shiro. “I’ll miss you.”

                “I’ll miss you too, but hey, two weeks, exams, and then you’re back home. Don’t do anything dangerous. Don’t hurt Lance or I’ll have to kill you.”

                He lets Keith go and pats his head, while Keith gapes.

                “ _I’m_ your brother!”

                “Yeah, but Lance is nicer to me!”

                “Shiro!”

                Shiro bolts out of the door. “Love you, Keith! See you in three weeks!”

                “Love you too, I guess!” Keith calls after him, and then leans against the door as it shuts, slides down against it. “Ugh, I just wanna _nap_.”

                “So nap,” Lance says with a shrug, and pulls Keith up from the floor—again—with both hands. “We can unpack tonight. I know you’re not gonna do homework, I’m not gonna do homework. So, you nap, I’ll watch the clock, we go eat, and then we unpack and spend the rest of the night like...I dunno, watching a movie or Vines or something.”

                He leads Keith over to his nest-bed, already set up again. He shoves aside the clothes he’d laid out while waiting for Keith to get to campus and climbs on, and Keith follows suit. He pillows his head against Lance’s chest, while Lance tugs a loose blanket on over him.

                “I don’t deserve you,” Keith mutters. “Thank you.”

                “You deserve the world, first of all,” Lance says, “and second of all, you’re welcome.”

                He kisses the top of Keith’s head and runs fingers through his hair, while Keith snuggles up and drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> less than 1k under par for nano...i'm almost there...i've almost closed the gap again...[wheeze] send help


	50. give me lance and keith slow dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance are slow dancing and keith is sleepy and lance is sappy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> earlier on twitter i tweeted that i wanted slow dancing kl bc i was listening to the sleeping at last christmas album and getting In My Feelings so i did it myself

            Wednesday leaves Keith sleepy by evening, and Lance’s music does nothing to help his case.

            “Are you just gonna stand on my feet the whole time?”

            Lance’s tone is light and joking as he and Keith sway and move in a slow circle to the soft sounds coming out of his laptop. Lance keeps one hand on his waist, while Keith grips his shoulder. Their other hands stay clasped, at about chest height. And, true to Lance’s words, Keith balances his weight on Lance’s feet, while Lance guides their dance through the cramped space of their dorm room.

            “Maybe,” Keith mumbles, and leans forward and presses his forehead against Lance’s and closes his eyes.

            He trusts Lance to keep him upright and steady, and smiles when Lance begins humming along to the music. His feet and motions are sure as he speeds up for only a moment to spin the both of them, hand tightening briefly around Keith, pressing him closer.

            “I’m so in love with you,” Lance chooses then to whisper. He sounds distant, like he’s not even aware he’s spoken. A flush races across Keith’s cheeks and he wills himself not to open his eyes and scare Lance off, because he wants him to keep going. He sounds like he has more to say, and Keith’s right, he does, because he continues after a beat of hesitation.

            “You’ve got no idea. Part of me still can’t believe there’s a time I ever tried to hate you, or that I convinced myself that I did, because you? Are amazing. And…and you’re mine.”

            That last part is quieter than the others; the muscles in Lance’s shoulders tense as he speaks it, like he’s realized he’s spoken out loud, like he’s realized Keith has heard and he’s waiting for Keith to flinch back. But Keith doesn’t. His chest aches and he pulls Lance against him as much as he can, and buries his face in the slope between Lance’s neck and shoulder; even as he does, their slow dancing continues.

            “I’m yours,” he whispers. “And you’re mine. And I’m gonna…” Keith yawns, then, Lance blows out a quiet laugh through his nose. “I’m gonna…protect you, always…and love you…mm, cherish you…”

            The last notes of the song fade out and leave Lance and Keith still spinning in lazy circles in the middle of the room, until finally Keith lets himself go limp with exhaustion into Lance’s arms. Lance holds him up and brings a hand around the back of his head, to run gentle fingers through his hair, and he leans back against the edge of the bed, slides down until he’s sitting and Keith is a vaguely human-shaped lump in his lap.

            “Let me protect you and love you right now,” Lance replies, and all Keith manages is a grunt, head falling onto Lance’s shoulder as he adjusts his position.

            He still needs to shower, still needs to pack his bag for his classes tomorrow, still has homework sitting undone, but Lance’s presence is an overwhelming comfort, a furnace in the cold of their dorm, and Keith doesn’t want to get up from that. So he doesn’t. And Lance doesn’t urge him away, either.

            Maybe he’ll regret this in the morning, but for now he can’t bring himself to regret a thing.

            “Brave Knight’s…s’posed…to protect the prince…”

            “Sometimes the prince has to protect his knight, Keith,” Lance says matter-of-factly. “Like against the king and queen who don’t approve of the marriage at first, or against the people who think the knight’s a scoundrel, or against other potential suitors.”

            “Yours…’r mine?” Keith mutters.

            “Yes,” Lance replies.

            Keith’s eyelids are heavy, tongue is heavy. He can’t quip back, _joke_ _’s on you, I’ve been refusing to see any other suitors because the prince has had my eye the whole time_. He can’t sit up and go back and forth with Lance as they craft another installment in their sort-of-established-sort-of-for-fun fantasy world. All he can do is huff out a laugh of his own.

            Lance leans his head on top of Keith’s, and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. When Keith’s eyes close again, after minutes of them shuttering as he fought to stay awake, they stay closed, and the last memory of the night that Keith has is of Lance’s arms around him and a lullaby in Lance’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sof
> 
> stan [soopits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441) and [dsn](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406)
> 
> i'm tryna update soopits by the end of next week (so like, no later than 12/05) and dsn is an already-complete fic trilogy
> 
> also i did a [twitter thread](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener/status/1067220260162596865) the other night on the 28 (potentially 30, depending on s8) things i did in dsn before they happened in vld canon, so go see what i did first and better
> 
> anyhoo bye nanowrimo is gonna be my bitch


	51. i don't wannaaaaaaaaaaaaa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> six more days of classes...just six more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school is trying to kick my ass nanowrimo is trying to kick my ass my period is trying to kick my ass voltron canon is trying to kick my ass is there anyone out here who would like to join them in kicking my ass

            The lowest floor of the dorm building is the warmest floor, and Lance can’t wrap his head around the fact that their room on the fourth floor is possibly one of the coldest places he knows of on campus if heat’s supposed to _rise._ Despite sweatpants and Keith’s sweatshirt and fuzzy socks on his feet, he shivers, and can’t understand a word on the page of the textbook in front of him, and that’s how he know he’s done studying for the night. He closes the book and slides it across his desk, and then pushes up and out of his chair.

            “ _Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiith_ ,” he whines, and shuffles over to the desk directly behind his, and drapes himself around Keith and the back of his chair. Keith raises his head slightly, stubby ponytail tickling Lance’s face as he does.

            “Yes?” Keith responds as he shuts his own textbook. Lance reaches out for his face, smacking blindly until he finds Keith’s cheek and lets his hand linger there.

            “I’m _coooooooold._ I wanna _cuddlllllllllllllle_.”

            “Okay, okay, let me get up.”

            Lance sighs and reluctantly lets Keith go so he can stand up. As soon as he’s on two feet, Lance wraps his arms around Keith from behind, effectively trapping him in his embrace as he buries his face into the side of Keith’s neck.

            “Mmm…warm…”

            “You know there are two perfectly warm beds for us to cuddle on instead of just standing here and catching the draft from the door, right?” Keith asks, and tries to move forward. Lance stumbles along behind him, and Keith sighs and shakes his head and gives in to Lance’s shenanigans. He climbs up onto Lance’s bed, with his copious amounts of pillows and extra blankets, and Lance follows suit, and collapses against Keith’s chest, sprawling out between his legs.

            Keith reaches around him and tugs on one of the blankets until it’s around Lance’s whole body, and then grabs a second one to drape around his own shoulders, as he leans back against the pillow nest, and Lance lays his head down on Keith’s stomach.

            “I don’t wanna go to class tomorrow,” Lance grumbles. “Or next week. Or for finals. I just wanna go back home and have vacation already.”

            “I know.” Keith runs a hand through Lance’s hair, through the twisting curls that, true to their deal, Lance hasn’t straightened in several months now. They grow unrulier by the day, and Keith is weak for them. “But you can do it. Six more days of class, and then what, five exams?”

            “Five spread out over the whole _week_. And I still think you should take advantage of your exam schedule and go home ahead of me.”

            “Nope,” Keith says. “I’m staying here because you’re going to want help studying, and I want to be here in case you need emergency cuddles. Like for the cold, or because of a mental breakdown. I’m not gonna leave you alone for two days.”

            Lance looks up at Keith and squints; Keith looks back down at him with the most innocently blank expression he can muster. Finally, Lance sighs and presses his face into Keith’s sweatshirt.

            “You’re too good for me, I don’t get it.”

            “Uh, no, I think it’s the other way around,” Keith replies, and resumes petting Lance’s hair. “We’ve been over this.”

            Lance groans, while Keith laughs softly—only causing Lance to groan louder, because he’s too damn _cute_ , and he wants to record that sound and play it on endless loop. He wraps tight arms around Keith’s back and squeezes and whines again.

            “You still have to shower,” Keith points out. “And finish your homework.”

            Keith was smart, and showered earlier in the night, when other people were too busy still in class, or in the dining hall, or doing whatever it was they could have possibly been doing on a chilly Thursday evening. Lance didn’t. He remained in the dorm, trying and failing to absorb himself in his textbook before giving in to the cold snap.

            “I don’t wannaaaaaaaa,” Lance complains.

            “Lance, c’mon, gotta keep your GPA up. Six more days of class. You can do it,” Keith encourages. “I’ll help you. I promise.”

            “Fine,” Lance concedes, and starts to rise, only to flop back down and bring Keith back down with him. Keith grunts, and raises his eyebrows while Lance reburies himself. “In half an hour, though.”

            Half an hour, good enough. Keith agrees quietly, and keeps an eye on the clock while Lance snuggles up against him. At this rate, they’ll likely both fall asleep before Keith gets the chance to tell him to get moving, but their Fridays are easy enough, he supposes. They can afford to wake up a little bit late, and spend a little extra time getting ready in the morning.

            There’s no harm in that, and definitely none in the way Lance relaxes, the way the heat seeps into him, the way he melts into a puddle in Keith’s lap.

            “You’re impossible,” Keith mutters fondly, and lets the tension out of his own muscles. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lance is me keith is the s/o i wish i had to cuddle me but also keith is the rational side of my brain trying to pick me up and get me through the next two weeks


	52. double whammy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two thunderstorms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, earlier in the day: wow i'm usually deep in the depression hole at this point in my period but i'm hAPPY this is fucking MAGICAL  
> brain, immediately after having a good day: oh worm?  
> me: hi--wait  
> me: wAIT NO  
> brain, kicking me 300-style: :^)  
> me, sitting in the darkness of the hole: ...i could klance this  
> brain: ...  
> brain: honestly what the fuck is wrong with u
> 
> anyway
> 
> **trigger warning for mild implication of unhealthy coping habits (ie mild self-harm, nothing graphic, nothing y'all haven't read before)**

                It strikes both of them today.

                Keith wakes up with it, knows what it is when the weight hasn’t slid off of his shoulders by the end of breakfast and he realizes that it’s not just exhaustion, sleepiness. By the time he comes back to the dorm in the afternoon, zombielike, a stormcloud over his head, a second stormcloud has formed over Lance.

                He barely looks up when Keith enters the dorm, doesn’t pay any mind to Keith dropping his bag onto his chair and then climbing onto his bed, doesn’t bat an eye at Keith’s headphones remaining in his ears as he buries himself in one of their hoodies, one that started as Lance’s and still has a trace of his smell. He draws the hood over his head and pulls the strings tight and curls in over himself.

                The sweatshirt’s thick enough that when he digs fingers into his biceps, he can’t tear through the fabric, can’t get to his arms and break skin. Maybe it’ll bruise, but Keith doesn’t particularly care, not when it’s winter and nobody’ll see, anyway.

                He doesn’t look up, either. Not until the bed dips with some weight and when Keith raises his head and peers beyond bangs, he sees Lance, tears rolling down his face, anger plain on his face. Even still, he lifts eyes to Keith, drops them to the space next to him, raises them again in question. Keith’s eyes burn as he nods and takes his earbuds out, and Lance crawls over to him, leans against him.

                His head falls on Keith’s shoulder, and Keith brings one arm around him, places his hand on the side of Lance’s head and holds him, while Lance reaches out for Keith’s other hand and clutches it between his own, holds it to his chest and cries harder.

                Keith’s heart shoots to his throat; when he blinks, tears of his own escape.

                He can’t talk around the lump in his throat, and has to settle for hoping Lance knows he’s there. He can’t get his arms fully around him, not with Lance holding his hand, splaying his fingers against his chest and keeping it pressed there so he can feel his heartbeat.

                Each thump is the sputtering of a candle in the wind, straining to flicker on, a diminishing light in the midst of the dark, and Keith wants nothing more than to shield him from each icy blast, take them head on and deal with the consequences later.

                He does what he can; he kisses the top of Lance’s head, tightens the arm he holds around his shoulders and the hand he holds against his head, twists strands of Lance’s hair and tries to come up with something, _anything_ he might be able to get beyond his throat and past his lips to make Lance feel better, tries to shove his own frustrations and terrors down long enough to do so.

                But he can’t.

                His own flame winks out, barely flares back to life. Something aches, deep in his chest, but he can’t locate it, and if he can’t locate it he can’t fix it, and if he can’t fix it he can’t fix _Lance_ , broken and openly sobbing as he sits pressed up next to Keith.

                _I’m sorry._

                Keith pulls his hand away from Lance’s chest, out of his grasp, and brings it around Lance’s back. Lance falls forward into Keith’s slightly shaky grip. He brings hands behind Keith, clutches the back of his shoulders and stifles his loudest sob by pressing his face into the front of Keith’s shoulder.

                _I’m so sorry._

                Tears drip down from Keith’s chin and land in Lance’s hair, and Keith kills every tiny sound in the back of his throat, forces himself to hear each one of Lance’s, stab after stab to the heart.

                “I’m here,” he finally manages in a small, trembling voice. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

                Lance acknowledges him with a sniffle and a near-imperceptible nod as he continues to cry. A few times he starts making sounds, like he’s about to speak, until he breaks down again and whatever he was about to say disappears.

                And he keeps sobbing.

                He goes for a long time, and Keith’s tears remain mostly secret as Lance keeps his head down, with Keith’s on top. Keith sniffles when Lance does, and Lance finally draws back, the worst of it past. He readjusts to give Keith a proper hug, bodies flush against each other’s, solid and reassuring.

                “I’m here too,” Lance whispers hoarsely. “I’ve got you.”

                Neither lets go, and Keith begins to think neither _wants_ to; he certainly doesn’t want _Lance_ to let him go, just as much as he doesn’t want to let go of Lance, still fragile, still shivering. Be it from cold or from his own uncertainty, Keith can’t be sure—just knows that he’s ready and willing to handle with care.

                Maybe things will be better tomorrow. Maybe they’ll be able to think back on this and figure out the root of whatever brought the storms on, but for now, all they can do is seek take shelter in each other and ride them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 800 words from finishing nanowrimo and then roomie and i are gonna watch a movie (they expressed interest in rotg aka My Comfort Movie For The Last Five Years) so [shrug]
> 
> bye


	53. mcstressy (3 AM edition)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the final week of the semester + impending exams has lance mcstRESSY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, at 2 AM on twitter: yeah i need a writing break i'm stressed the fuck out and i'm producing nothing but garbage i am drained school is killing me i desire the sweet release of Death come and take me now  
> me, 15 minutes later: [opens new google doc] i can klance this--  
> brain: jesus christ

_to_ **starboy <3**  
hey  
_delivered 11:43 PM_

 _to_ **starboy <3**  
i’m going to bed  
_delivered 11:43 PM_

 _to_ **starboy <3**  
i’m leaving the door unlocked  
_delivered 11:44 PM_

 _to_ **starboy <3** __  
i love you, good night <3  
_delivered 11:45 PM_

                Keith’s not sure what time it is when he wakes up again to the door creaking, just knows that it’s still dark and he can’t see for shit without contacts or glasses and the blob illuminated by the hallway light is moving slowly and quietly, like he knows he’s not supposed to be making too much noise, lest he wake up anyone sleeping.

                Keith’s eyelids flutter and limbs weigh heavily as his body protests any desire he might have to get up, so he doesn’t. He closes his eyes again and tries to reclaim his sleeping state while Lance quietly moves about the room—Keith hears him unzip his backpack, hears him dump books on his desk and then pack for tomorrow morning, hears him gather up his things to shower and then shuffle back out, into the hall, down to the bathroom.

                He wakes again when the door squeaks on its hinges half an hour later. Yet again, Lance tries to be as silent as possible as he puts away his shower stuff, his skincare supplies, his toothbrush bag. Keith tingles a little as he prepares for the bed to dip, for Lance’s weight and warmth to sink down next to him, for steady arms to wrap around him.

                It doesn’t happen.

                The mattress on the other side of the room squeaks a little bit as Lance climbs into the bed across the room, the one Keith initially claimed for the semester, the one without all the extra blankets and pillows and stuffed animals that Lance’s bed has.

                Keith finally sits up, and Lance freezes just as he pulls himself onto the bed. Slowly, his head turns, and even in the dark, Keith pinpoints the moment their gazes meet.

                “Lance?” he asks quietly.

                “Sorry,” Lance whispers. “Did-did I wake you?”

                “Not really,” Keith lies, frowning. “You alright?”

                They have a rule with each other, that they’re supposed to talk out their issues before they go to sleep, be open and honest with each other, and Keith watches as Lance comes to the realization, as any walls he might’ve had up come tumbling down. Keith swings a leg over the side of the bed, prepared to get up, when Lance takes in a breath.

                “No.”

                At this angle, Keith can just barely see the clock and make out the blurry green numbers. 3 AM, and they both have to be out of bed no later than 6:30 for their 8 AM class. His frown deepens, and he tries to get up again, only for Lance to speak again, and his voice pins Keith in place.

                “I...my anxiety’s flaring up again, and this week...I’m not ready, I’m not going to be ready for exams next week...I’m scared, I-I don’t know what I’m gonna do…my thoughts are everywhere and I don’t even know where to begin with the stuff I have due and my focus is even worse than usual, and…” He hugs himself and draws his knees up to his chest. “I’ve...I’ve been feeling weird all weekend and it’s getting worse and I don’t know what to _do_.”

                His voice doesn’t wobble or crack; it’s soft and heavy and defeated. Keith finally pushes off of the bed and lands on the floor with two quiet _thumps_ , and then pads over to the bed Lance sits on. He pauses right in front of him, braces his hands on either side of the mattress.

                “Can I come up?”

                Lance nods, and the mattress squeaks again as Keith hauls himself up to an open space behind Lance. Lance remains motionless, save for the shivers that run through him—be it the cold or his anxieties, Keith isn’t sure.

                “Can I touch you?” he asks next, and Lance hesitates this time, before he nods feebly.

                Keith wraps arms around Lance from the back and draws him into his lap, until he’s got a lump of boy cradled against his chest. He keeps his arms loose and gentle, enough room for Lance to get up and get away from him if he needs to. But Lance doesn’t. He melts against Keith, rests his head against the space over his heart.

                “It’s gonna be okay,” Keith tells him. “You can do it. You got this far. This isn’t anything new—just another few exams. I can help you. Hunk can help you. I’m sure if we called up Shiro, or even Matt, they could help you, too.” He kisses the top of Lance’s head and holds him a little tighter, and Lance doesn’t flinch. “You have a support network. We’re all here, I promise.” A little bit tighter. “I’m here. No matter what.”

                And then he starts singing.

                He keeps his voice down, so he doesn’t accidentally wake up the people sleeping next door, but just loud enough for Lance to hear him, just loud enough for him to hear a song from the _Treasure Planet_ soundtrack. The whole time, he runs a hand up and down Lance’s back, slow and lazy and soothing. It isn’t long before he finds Lance knocked out, asleep against him.

                Keith blows a breath out through his nose and smiles wistfully, and sinks back against the mattress. He struggles and pulls the blankets up until they’re draped over them. He’s careful not to disturb Lance, because Lance needs the rest far more than he does, evidently.

                “It’s gonna be fine, Starboy,” he whispers, after a few minutes of staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah excuse me if i take a brief hiatus from this fic this week and also from the discord server and also maybe from life in general
> 
> i'll probably still be screaming on twitter tho hmu @ astralscrivener


	54. it's a tough life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the stress of college has invaded lance's slumbering hours...good thing ol' brave knight kogane's got his back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have an essay due in 11 hours that i've barely started and i have an 8 AM and all i want to do is write kl why is my brain like this

                “Please, please…”

                Keith wakes up in the dark to muttering. He slowly peels his face back from Lance’s shoulder and squints, searching for the source of the sound. A few seconds later, his brain puts two and two together, and Keith realizes there’s only two people in here, and if he’s not the one talking...

                “No, nonono, please—”

                Keith sits up and untangles his arms from around Lance, but Lance doesn’t budge. His face is pinched, and every few seconds he squirms, not yet outright thrashing.

                “Lance,” Keith whispers, and bites his lip and dares to lay a hand on his arm and shakes him. “Lance, wake up.” And it doesn’t do anything. Lance still whimpers, and a crack splinters its way down Keith’s heart. “Lance, _wake up_. Starboy. Hey.”

                _Fuck it._

                Keith leans over and cups Lance’s cheek, and turns his head until Lance is facing him. Then he tries to pry one eyelid open, and Lance snaps awake. He recoils from Keith, mind still hazy. When he blinks, his eyes open wet, but they focus, focus on the hands hovering in front of him, focus on the concern in Keith’s expression.

                He doesn’t relax.

                “Lance,” Keith whispers, and reaches out again.

                He doesn’t flinch, either. He remains statue-still as Keith once more cups his cheek, and runs a thumb over his cheekbone, wipes away a singular tear trailing down through his freckles.

                “It’s okay,” Keith murmurs. “You’re okay.”

                Lance processes Keith’s words slowly, and then finally heaves a sigh and sits up, and slumps into Keith, burying his face in the crook of Keith’s neck, while Keith wraps gentle arms around him, rubs his thumb back and forth over the nape of his neck, slides a hand underneath his shirt and traces fingers over his spine.

                “You’re okay,” Keith repeats. “It was just a nightmare. Everything’s okay. I’m here. You have me.”

                Lance sniffles but doesn’t outright cry. Keith feels hands underneath the back of his own shirt, palms pressed flat against his back, holding him as close as they can. The skin-to-skin contact grounds Lance, Keith knows—it’s warm and reassuring, a way for him to be certain Keith’s real, that he’s there and not going anywhere.

                “Y’wanna talk about it?” Keith whispers.

                Lance shakes his head. “Not tonight...please just...hold me?”

                “Okay.”

                And Keith tightens his grip.

                It must be Lance’s anxiety, the deadlines looming over him, the stress of their upcoming exams, that final push before winter break that’s kicking the asses of too many people Keith’s aware of. He doesn’t know what it’s done, exactly, what it’s caused Lance to see in his nightmare, but Lance’s fear and the way in which he holds onto Keith like a lifeline solidifies Keith’s resolve to be there as much as he can, to not shut down himself, no matter how much he might want to.

                Lance is always there for him, _always._ And he’s let it slip through the cracks, this idea he has that he has to be strong all the time, and what that mindset is doing to him, and it’s plainer than ever now. One pillar cannot support a roof; it always needs another to lean on.

                “It’s a tough life, Prince Lanceylance leads,” Keith whispers, and feels Lance’s breath hitch. “He shows it to no one. He smiles before suitors he’ll never give his hand to, pleases the crowds and the commonfolk and every visiting royal. Never lets his parents see the war within him.” Keith runs fingers through his hair, feels Lance slowly relax again. “It’s only during the night he breaks. No one can see or hear him alone in the dark in his chambers—no one but his knight.”

                Lance lets out some soft noise, somewhere between a tiny whimper and a moan. Keith kisses the top of his head and continues on.

                “Some people believe this knight protects his prince by sword and sword alone, but it’s much more than that. The knight protects his prince’s heart and mind, day in and day out. He is the prince’s closest confidant. He holds all of his secrets, knows the depth of the prince’s emotions. He knows of the battlefield in his mind, and fights alongside him. He fights with words and soft touches…”

                Lance lets out another breath as Keith carries on stroking his hair.

                “And he’ll fight until the day he dies, because it’s his life’s duty to see that the prince is safe. He’ll do whatever it takes to guarantee it.”

                “He’s doing a good job,” Lance says, voice barely audible. He yawns, and starts to lie back down. He and Keith face each other, as Keith follows suit and pulls the blankets back over them, and he falls back asleep with his head in the crook of Keith’s neck, while Keith kisses his temple.

                “G’night, Starboy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hereby dedicate this chapter to every college student who currently wants to yeet themselves into the sun because of deadlines (esp my thots, love u hoes, we can do it!!!! we're almost there!!!!!! ONE LAST PUSH!!!!!!!)


	55. did you just say flex on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's tuesday. keith's done with exams. lance isn't. lance may be stressed the fuck out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to post this tuesday night when i got home but uhhhh i keep getting Headaches (see: last night) and keep getting pulled away from my computer (see: tuesday night, yesterday) so like...ya i know this is late don't look at me like that

                Keith’s joy over being finished with finals lasts about as long as it takes for Lance to stumble into their dorm and collapse on his bed, face-down, groaning, while his bag slides from his shoulders and down his arms and onto the floor with a heavy thud.

                It’s Tuesday. Where Keith’s exams wrapped this afternoon, just about an hour ago, Lance still has two more to go, and isn’t due to go home until Thursday. And while technically Keith can leave, and technically needs to be gone by tomorrow, per Arus’ _please leave no more than 24 hours after your exam you heathens_ policy, he made the decision not to. Several months ago. As soon as exam schedules were released. As soon as he figured out that leaving meant leaving Lance alone for two days.

                Why leave, when he could stay and help Lance through the last couple of his exams, be it by helping him study or by holding him whenever he needs it?

                “Was it that bad?” Keith asks, removing his earbuds but remaining in place, propped up against his pillows with his phone in his lap.

                Lance answers with a louder groan, and slowly slides down the bed until he flops onto the rug in the center of the room, starfishing, and stares up at the ceiling. He brings one arm over his eyes, over his forehead, and sighs.

                “It’s too late to withdraw, my GPA’s fucked, and it’s only our first semester. That’s it. I’m gonna be a college dropout. Don’t wanna do this anymore.”

                Keith rolls over until he’s on his stomach and braces an arm on the bed, peering over the side.

                “Really?”

                Lance lifts his arm just enough to meet Keith’s curious gaze. “Well, the grades aren’t in yet, but it’s one of those things where the grades don’t _need_ to be in for me to know.”

                “If the grades aren’t in, then you can’t say you failed for sure,” Keith says matter-of-factly, and rolls back over onto the bed, out of Lance’s line of sight, while Lance lets his arm drop back over his eyes and sighs.

                “I wish I had that level of confidence in myself.”

                That has Keith’s head reappearing over the side of the bed in seconds. He levels a glare at Lance.

                “Nope. None of that. Get up here.”

                “Do I have to?”

                Keith pauses, eyebrows knitting, and his feigned anger melts away. “Seriously?”

                Lance shrugs, and lets his arm roll from his head to the floor, fingers absently running over the shag carpet. “I mean, I’m lazy and also dead inside. I think the floor is just my permanent home now. It’s where I belong, where I can be cold and rot away in peace as I hide from the last of my exams.”

                Keith shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t with you.”

                He swings his legs over the side of the bed and jumps down, landing on the floor with two soft slaps of his feet. He crouches down next to Lance, and tugs at him, just enough to get Lance to sit up. Then he scoops an arm under Lance’s legs and wraps the other around Lance’s back and picks him up. Lance doesn’t yelp—he saw this coming, and merely throws his arms around Keith’s neck, as Keith sets him down on the edge of the bed.

                Keith climbs on after him, and then sits down behind Lance, wraps his arms around him from the back and nestles his face into the slope of Lance’s neck, sets his legs on either side of Lance and presses them in until Lance is cozy, surrounded by him.

                “First of all,” Keith starts, and Lance mutters a _here we go_ under his breath, “you do _not_ belong on the floor, and I _refuse_ to let you rot away _or_ miss the last of your exams. _Secondly_ —”

                “There’s _more?_ ”

                “Yes?” Keith raises his head, and instantly regrets the lack of heat as he separates it from its contact with Lance’s shoulder and neck. “That’s what _first of all_ means. There’s more to come. _Anyway, secondly,_ you passed that exam. Guarantee it. And you’re going to pass your other ones. I’m going to help you study, and then you’re going to go in and kick ass.”

                He kisses Lance’s cheek like he’s emphasizing his point, and then reburies his face, while Lance sits in his arms with his hands in his lap and drops his head, contemplating Keith’s words. His face flushes when he feels Keith’s mouth on his skin, pressing kisses in a line up to his ear.

                “Stop being cute,” Lance says quietly. “I’m trying to sulk.”

                “Oh, and _I’m_ the emo one,” Keith replies.

                That draws something that barely passes for a smile out of Lance, an upward curve of his mouth while Keith holds him tighter.

                “You’ve got this,” Keith says. “Two more days. You can do it. Maybe you’re not a genius, but you got into the Garrison in the first place, and you got through this entire semester. Finish strong. Flex on James by surviving finals.”

                “Did you just say _flex on?_ Who even are you?”

                There’s the smile.

                This one lights up Lance’s whole face as he turns to look at Keith, and Keith returns it with a matched intensity, feels his chest tighten because he hates when this look goes away, absolutely hates it.

                “Pretty sure I’m your Starlight,” Keith answers. “I’m kinda trying to light your way.”

                Lance snorts. “You big cheese.”

                He finally reaches up and wraps his hands around Keith’s wrists and allows himself to sink further into Keith’s embrace, lets his muscles relax, feels Keith’s breath tickle his neck and his heart thump against his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i write another one of these for today? probably not
> 
> i'm trying to finish the next chapter of stealing our own place in the sun before s8 drops, seeing as it's been like two months since my last update, but the likelihood of that happening? at a good 30% right now. [sigh]
> 
> if you haven't read [stealing our own place in the sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441): it's a fix-it fic starting with season 4, each chapter is an episode, hunk and lance and allura get arcs outside of romance and outside of like...One character-centric episode before it returns to Holtron, pidge's arcs get cut down, the clone plot is more interesting, lotor's plot's more interesting (did someone say... _redemption arc?_ ), adam's going to be alive and important in the later seasons, kick (with development that's not just subtle things theorists have to write two whole bibles on for us to see), dare i say romellura, fuck the mfes, oh and also i already have a musical episode because unlike canon's Voltron Show episode, MINE DOESN'T SUCK
> 
> am i a little salty? nooooo
> 
> if u want a completed fic trilogy to read instead of 5/45 planned chapters, read [deceit so natural](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406)! the trilogy i literally will not shut up about! starts with [where people go to die](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529), in which lotor misunderstands what a hospital is for, leading to him believing lance is a galran spy who just killed keith, leading to some undercover shenanigans with keith and lance, leading to a whole lot of disaster. ft. better team bonding than the show!! because apparently even after seven seasons together, if hunk wasn't there the whole team wouldn't be friends??? what?????? AM I SALTY? NOOO...
> 
> okay i think i got that all out of my system i'm gonna yeet on out to go write


	56. a yeehaw at heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: okay cute christmas tree decorating scene  
> brain: cowboy flirting  
> me: this makes perfect sense

                Keith’s life is comprised of moments, strings of them that make up the blanket of who he is and where he stands today. Right now, that would be the living room in the Brogane house, with the lights off and the fireplace going and the TV playing some cheesy Hallmark movie with the same plot as the other three that played before this one.

                The Christmas tree shines in the corner cleared out of Kosmo, Red, and Black’s toys, multicolored lights twinkling, glinting off of the ornaments that have yet to fully adorn the tree—the ornaments Keith is _supposed_ to be hanging, but he can’t, because he’s too busy watching Lance.

                Lance dangles a good seven ornaments off of one hand, hooks and strings wrapped or balanced carefully on his fingers as he takes them off one at a time, tongue poking between his lips in concentration as his eyes sweep over green branches, searching for the best spots to put them. He wears a Santa hat that lists to one side, far enough that the pompom on the end brushes his shoulder every time he moves.

                They spent yesterday decorating Lance’s house with the aid of several siblings, on top of Lance’s niece and nephew, and Blue’s occasional _contributions_...which generally meant chasing the cat around the house to steal back pieces of tinsel or garland. Tonight, it’s just the two of them...or at least, for the next few hours, with Keith’s mom out and Shiro working.

                Black’s curled up somewhere in the house, probably in Shiro’s room. Kosmo stretches out in his doggy bed across the room, while Red perches on a shelf he’s definitely not supposed to be on, but he’s not causing trouble, so Keith can’t bring himself to tell him no.

                It’s domestic as hell, and something explodes in Keith’s chest.

                This—he wants _this_ for the rest of his life, wants it every December, wants to see Lance looking like the holidays threw up on him, wants those eyes to sparkle in the glow of a Christmas tree or icicle lights or candles, wants to see him in that Santa hat and his ridiculous ugly sweaters he bought on a discount at Target, wants _him_.

                “Are you just gonna stand there or what?” Lance asks teasingly. “We’ve seen this before. She’s gonna fall in love with the guy and learn the true meaning of Christmas, and then they’ll get together when one of his daughters asks if he loves her.”

                Of course.

                It’s Lance Culture for him to believe Keith’s too engrossed in the movie. It’s Lance Culture for him to not realize Keith’s been watching _him_ for the last five minutes.

                Keith finally remembers the garland he’s supposed to be stringing along the mantle of the fireplace, realizes that _that’s_ the thing draped over his shoulders. He pulls the rest of it out of the box he stands over and starts not in the direction of the fireplace, but for Lance and the tree.

                He waits until Lance hangs the last of the ornaments on his hand, and then throws the garland around him and yanks him in. Lance stumbles and catches himself by gripping Keith’s biceps, and the fire in Keith’s chest burns on, spills out of him in giggles as he watches Lance’s face flush. The laughter dies down when his expression changes, from surprise to the _oh, you little shit_ look Keith knows like the back of his hand.

                Then _Keith’s_ face flushes.

                “You really _are_ a yeehaw at heart,” Lance remarks, grinning lopsidedly. “You literally just lassoed me in. That’s like, the cowboy equivalent of flirting.”

                “That’s _not_ the cowboy equivalent of flirting,” Keith begins to protest, but Lance puts hand over his mouth.

                “Nope! It is! One of my tíos has a farm out in Arizona. When I was like, eleven, I spent half a summer out there. This is definitely the cowboy equivalent of flirting.” He tips his head. “Or maybe it was dueling. Or flirt-dueling. Y’know, catch your opponent off-guard before you get rid of them because this town isn’t big enough for the both of you. ...Is this town big enough for the both of us, Keith?”

                _Well, shit._ Lance lowers his eyelids and peers at Keith through what are practically slits, and Keith’s heart trips over itself, hammers against his chest as the ends of his mouth tug up further. He definitely thinks he’s taken control of the situation, as he removes his hand from Keith’s mouth to give him a space to answer.

                “No,” is what Keith answers. “This town _ain’t_ big enough for the both of us.”

                Lance laughs. Full-on laughs and ducks his head, until Keith tugs on the garland again until there’s no space between them, chests flush against each other, and Lance rests his forehead against Keith’s.

                “There’s only space for _one of us_ ,” Keith goes on, “and I can’t let our enemies kill you, so you need to stay as close to me as possible, _partner._ ”

                Lance straight-up snorts and then laughs harder. “ _Partner_ , oh my God…”

                Keith’s deep-South accent isn’t helping Lance keep his composure. His shoulders shake with laughter, and bringing his arms around Keith’s neck does little to steady him. All it does is shatter the last of Keith’s resolve as he tilts his head up and brushes his lips against Lance’s, featherlight, a question of permission.

                Lance answers by closing the distance, and the fire inside of Keith incinerates him.

                He drops the garland and wraps tight arms around Lance and staggers backwards, and catches himself on the wall, because his legs nearly give out. He wants to cry, needs to cry. He wants this for the rest of his life—he’ll _have this_ for the rest of his life.

                His goofball, his heart, his partner against the wild world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. season 8. no spoilers but uhh what the fuck. also. that tea on twitter. what the FUCK.
> 
> EDIT: also i know about the backlash from Lance’s State At The End Of The Season but lance’s family having a farm...people have had that headcanon since s4 with the kaltenecker scene...please...
> 
> anyway i've been trying to write chapter 6 of the fix-it fic for over two months and i'm ALMOST THERE the issue is i'm. unsure of how i want to end the chapter to segue into the season 5 arc. so. there's that. and also i scrapped 1000 words of it. and also since i began writing chapter 6 i scrapped the beginning like 6 times. so. that's how that's going. i'm on vacation till january 20th so OBVIOUSLY i want to crank out a decent number of chapters before college comes back to kick my ass, round 2. but. yeah.
> 
> IN THE MEANTIME  
> -stan [STEALING OUR OWN PLACE IN THE SUN](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441)  
> -stan [DECEIT](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529/chapters/25276539) [SO](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473437/chapters/25727043) [NATURAL](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743020/chapters/26462739)


	57. moon prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ft. lance, keith, some anxiety, and the prince lanceylance universe that lance can't stop building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all day i've been like, impassive about kl  
> like i was listening to their playlist for half an hour not feeling ANYTHING and i was like "...did i die inside? am i moving on?? this is too soon to move on" but then the clock hit midnight and i started crying and i was like "oh there it is nvm"
> 
> anyway here's the chapter lance is anxious keith is there what more do u want

                Growing up, the space between Christmas and New Year’s was always blurry. Lance would be coming down from his Christmas high, only to stumble right into New Year’s celebrations, and then immediately be shoved back into the swing of school, with hardly a second to catch his breath. Some years his anxiety skyrocketed—those years before he had a name to put to the feeling that he was walking along a razor’s edge—and this year the feeling bodyslams him in the wee hours after Christmas Day, after celebrations at Keith’s house went late into the night.

                He stares at the glow-in-the-dark stars on Keith’s ceiling with a knot in his chest and a shortness of breath and rolls out of Keith’s arms, plenty of space to sprawl out now that they’re in Keith’s bed, and not on their standard-issue dorm mattress, with barely enough room for one person, let alone two.

                “Lance?”

                Keith’s sleep-husky voice scrapes against the silence, the mattress springs groaning and squeaking as he sits up. Lance’s eyes shift to him, and Keith meets his gaze, between digging the heels of his hands into the bleariness in an effort to rub the last remnants of sleep away.

                “You okay?” Keith asks, and reaches a tentative hand out, knuckles brushing over Lance’s cheek.

                “No,” Lance answers after a beat of hesitation, and then he sits up, too, dragging in a deep breath and slowly letting it go. Keith’s hand slides down and rests against Lance’s neck, and he strokes his thumb gently over Lance’s pulse point, back and forth as Lance evens his breathing out. Lance doesn’t flinch away—rather, he leans into Keith’s palm with a sigh.

                “Can’t sleep?” Keith drops his voice to a whisper.

                “Anxiety’s flaring up,” Lance admits, and drops his eyes to where his hands rest in his lap, where his fingers idly pick at the skin around his nails. “Don’t know _why_.” Truly, he doesn’t. There’s nothing to be anxious about, when he’s home for another four weeks, rather than just one. He’s home with plenty of time to relax and get things done and prepare for school to start back up, so _this_ shouldn’t be happening.

                The frustration builds up, bubbles in his chest and pushes at the lid of his patience. A noise of distress escapes from the back of his throat, while Keith’s brows knit in concern, and his frown deepens.

                “I have an idea,” he says after a few minutes, and lets go of Lance completely and rises from the bed. Lance watches as Keith moves about the room—fumbling for his glasses, shrugging on a sweatshirt and tossing another in Lance’s direction. “Get dressed.”

                “What—?”

                “Don’t ask questions,” Keith responds quickly. He stops and turns and faces Lance, and raises both hands to the side of his head. “Don’t worry, nothing bad, I promise.”

                “Keith, it’s almost three in the morning, shouldn’t we just—?”

                “Go back to bed and let you suffer all night and then have you wake up sad and exhausted in the morning?” Keith supplies, and continues getting ready, tugs on a pair of boots and swipes his beanie from his desk.

                Lance gives up on trying to argue and rises from the bed, and pulls on the sweatshirt Keith threw at him, and then slides his feet back into his sneakers, while Keith wraps a scarf around his neck and carefully adjusts it. Lance looks up just in time to bump noses with Keith, and for a second they both freeze.

                “Uh, hi,” Lance finally says.

                But of course, Keith isn’t paying attention. His eyes rove the space just underneath Lance’s, exploring the field of freckles he’s mapped a thousand times. He leans in, warm breath tickling Lance’s cheeks, and Lance shuts his eyes as Keith dusts his face with kisses, tiny and light.

                Lance opens his eyes again when the kisses stop, and Keith draws back, eyes vibrant and glittering. They steal for their own what little light they can, from the moonlight filtering in through the slits in the blinds covering the windows.

                _Moon Prince,_ Lance’s brain says.

                _The Brave Knight Kogane, well-known scoundrel, husband to Prince Lanceylance, has secretly been a royal this whole time. He rejected his lineage and went off in search of his own path in life. Prince Lanceylance’s guard picked him up, believing him an orphan with nothing left, but only Prince Lanceylance knows the truth. The Brave Knight harbors secret powers, passed down his family line for generations, remaining dormant until he arrived, and the Moon chose him to be its champion—_

                “You ready to go?” Keith breathes out, and breaks Lance away from his train of thought.

                Lance nods, at a loss for words, not trusting his brain to work on the fly—not this time. Keith takes his hands and pulls him up from the bed, and the two of them start out of Keith’s bedroom. Keith pokes his head into the hall and makes sure it’s clear, before he leads Lance down the stairs. They move on silent feet, with all the stealth they can muster, and duck out the front door.

                Keith climbs into the driver’s seat of his Jeep, while Lance gets in on the passenger side. They each wince when Keith starts the car, loud against the night, and before any of Keith’s family members can get up and see what the noise is, Keith backs out of the driveway and tears down the road, while Lance grabs the bar next to the door, lovingly dubbed the _oh fuck I’m gonna die_ handle. He doesn’t let go until Keith slows down, two streets away.

                “What was _that?_ ” Lance asks.

                “I told my mom about how I’d come to your house in the middle of the night during senior year,” Keith answers. “She, well...she wasn’t very approving of me sacrificing my sleep by staying up all night, and looking back, I understand. But now we’re on vacation and I’m handling myself a lot better. But I still didn’t want her waking up in time to see me so she could chew me out.”

                “Chewing you out in the driveway at three in the morning,” Lance mutters, and finally cracks a smile.

                “Yes, exactly,” Keith says. “Thank you, Lance. You clearly understand that we can’t subject the neighbors to that.”

                Lance giggles; they’re quiet, breathy things, but then Keith starts giggling, too, and they both get louder, until they’re full-out laughing. With the roads empty, Keith lets himself steal a glance at Lance, but Lance is already looking at him, and it only makes them laugh harder. Lance doubles over, while Keith turns back to the road with tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

                By the time they reach their destination, they’re downright wheezing. Keith cuts the engine and leans back in his seat and wipes his eyes and tries to get ahold of himself, while Lance leans against the car door and clutches his chest.

                “God, we need sleep,” he mutters, and chokes out a few more laughs before he sighs.

                Then he peers out the window and realizes where they are.

                “Seriously?” he asks, rolling over in his seat to face Keith.

                “Mhm.”

                Keith gets out of the car, and Lance follows suit. Keith waits, and meets Lance in front of the car, and then takes his hand. Lance lets Keith take the lead, even though he knows now where they’re going. They traipse over cool sand, while the moon shines down on the waves lapping shore, churning with ice and slush.

                The two of them climb up onto the rocky walkway and make it all the way to the edge, fifty feet out from the sand, and sit down. They press in close—Lance rests his head on Keith’s shoulder, while Keith brings an arm around him.

                “Thank you,” Lance whispers.

                Keith kisses the top of his head. “Always.”

                And then they fall silent.

                Lance times his breathing with the rolling of the tide, watches the moon’s reflection ripple on the surface of the water, unaware that all the while, Keith keeps his eyes on him. Keith pinpoints the moment Lance accidentally slips out of consciousness and into dreamland, and for a little bit, doesn’t dare move. Not until a breeze cuts through the area and cuts through all of his layers, and a shiver shoots down his spine. It’s only then that Keith looks at the clock on his phone and decides they need to get back.

                He hesitates.

                Lance is peaceful, asleep in his arms. Relaxed, at ease.

                So Keith doesn’t wake him. Or tries not to, at least.

                Gently, carefully, he leans Lance back on the rocks and then stands up, and scoops Lance into his arms. Carrying him comes easily, and Keith never once is even in _danger_ of losing his balance as he starts back across the rocks to the car.

                Halfway there, Lance stirs, and just barely opens his eyes. He locks gazes with Keith; Keith merely smiles and holds him a little tighter.

                “I’ve got you,” he reassures him. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

                _Sometimes Prince Lanceylance gets lost, or falls victim to a spell from a sorceress, succumbs to poison from his enemies. The Brave Knight is always there—always. And tonight is no exception. Stranded in darkness, the Brave Knight arrives, sword out and shining with the power of the moon, glowing a brilliant white. The Brave Knight carries Prince Lanceylance out of the dark, puts his own life on the line for the sake of his lover._

_“I’ve always got you,” the Brave Knight reassures the prince in his darkest hour, when everything else is fading and he knows nothing but his knight’s strong arms and dark tresses and galactic eyes. “You and me, Lance.”_

Lance. _Only the Brave Knight could make such a mundane name sound so intimate. Deliriously, Prince Lanceylance basks in the sound of his voice, and nestles his face deeper against his chest._

_“Us against the world.” A distant murmur, and the prince doesn’t even realize he says it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya no christmas chapter/oneshot this year
> 
> i didn't do one for new year's last year tho so,,,, hmmmm
> 
> anyway hashtag stan DECEIT SO NATURAL and STEALING OUR OWN PLACE IN THE SUN i've given the shpiels enough alright bye i'm going to bed


	58. protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance can't sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to the thotties because that... _that_...

                It’s the middle of the night, and Lance can’t sleep.

                Not for the same reasons as last time—not for anxiety eating him alive, not for terror creeping up on him for no reason at all. No, Lance can’t sleep because his heart’s too busy squeezing, his lungs are too busy burning, and Keith is too busy sleeping on his chest like a fucking angel.

                Lance doesn’t know the last time his heart has ached with this much love, sent this much physical pain through his chest, and he sure as hell doesn’t know why it’s happening now. They’ve slept like this plenty of times before—Lance playing body pillow and Keith playing blanket—but something, _something’s_ finally snapped inside Lance and set any last shred of affection he’s managed to hold down free.

                Keith looks so damn _peaceful_. All of the tension has melted out of his body, out of his face, leaving the tiniest trace of a smile behind. His hair falls around him in dark, silken rivulets, such a stark contrast against the pale skin that glows in the moonlight. Lance carefully reaches out for one strand and pushes it back behind Keith’s ear, and then waits, holds his breath.

                Keith doesn’t stir.

                He’s absolutely out cold, and the ache inside of Lance intensifies, because in Keith’s case, this is trust of the highest form. Lance has known that from the get-go; getting Keith’s walls to come down enough for Lance to even set foot in his space in the first place had taken some time, and Lance reminds himself of it every time they sleep together. But tonight the knowledge barrels into him. _He’s_ the person Keith’s chosen to entrust himself to.

                _Prince Lanceylance’s knights have a duty to him. They’ve sworn their lives to protect their prince; the prince’s personal guard especially so. Few, if any of them, realize that vow, that sacred promise and bond between them, goes both ways._

_He watches his knights’ backs, protects them against any potential wrath from the king and queen, does his best to pick them back up after their battles. His personal guard may return from a fight littered in cuts and bruises, deep slices that may eventually scar. The Brave Knight Kogane, in his coat of dented armor. Prince Lanceylance helps remove the pieces, one by one, presses kisses to each wound, takes the time to gently wrap each of them._

_“You don’t have to let yourself get so hurt all the time, you know.”_

_“I have to protect you.”_

_“Not all the time.” A kiss to his knight’s palm, and then Prince Lanceylance holds Kogane’s hand to his cheek and meets his eyes, swirling with a thousand different emotions, all of them wavering just behind a thin veil, the veil he wears when dealing with everyone outside of their quiet relationship. Apprehension and confusion and fear and longing and too many others. Prince Lanceylance merely smiles. “Let me protect you, too.”_

                The engagement ring. One of Keith’s hands, bare of his fingerless gloves, splays on Lance’s chest, and the ring stands out, glittering. Lance raises his own hand and examines the same band on his finger, and then lowers it, places it on top of Keith’s.

                “I’ll always protect you,” he whispers. “I promise.”

                Lance leans back and looses a deep sigh, and finally closes his eyes. He misses the way Keith’s flutter open momentarily, misses his head lift, misses the smile deepen. Then he lowers his head again, nestles further against Lance, and lets slumber reclaim him.

                _I’ll always protect you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright gn i don't know when [soopits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441) is updating again [i](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406) dunno man [I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297529) DUNNO MY BRAIN'S FRIED YEET


	59. passing the torch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance's first night of the new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started writing this last night after the ball dropped but then i wiped the fuck out so here it is

                Keith spends his first night of 2019 in Lance’s arms.

                The group’s been split between two dens. Hunk and Shay snore as they snuggle underneath one blanket, completely wiped out from the night’s festivities. Pidge _was_ awake half an hour ago, huddled in the corner with a blanket drawn over her head and shoulders, and her laptop balanced in her lap, legs crossed beneath her, but when Keith glances in her direction, he sees she’s passed out, and her laptop screen’s gone dark.

                That leaves himself and Lance as the last ones awake in this room.

                He brings his head back down and brushes his lips against Lance’s for the millionth time since the ball dropped. They’ve spent the last two hours trading lazy lip-locks, fingers scratching scalps and tracing up and down spines. Lance indulges him all the same and kisses him back gently, presses his palm flat against the small of Keith’s back and holds him close underneath two layers of fuzzy blankets.

                The TV drones on in the background as Mountain Time celebrates the turn of the new year, and the West Coast prepares. The strobe lights from whichever musical act’s performance bathes Lance’s face in shades of pink and purple and blue, and Keith cracks a smile as he draws back and runs a thumb over Lance’s bottom lip.

                “Happy twenty-bi-teen,” he whispers, and then giggles immediately after. Lance giggles along with him, light and wheezy, and Keith ducks his head into the crook of Lance’s neck, to stifle the swell of his giggling into full-blown laughter. Lance cradles his head and threads fingers through his hair.

                “You passing on the torch from twenty-gay-teen?” Lance mutters, and Keith laughs harder.

                “Yeah,” he manages, and his voice pitches up. “My baby’s bi...twenty-bi-teen...it’s his year…”

                “Oh my God,” Lance snorts. “You’re sleep-deprived, go to bed.”

                “I’m in bed,” Keith mutters back to him, and presses the lower half of his face against Lance’s skin, inhales the scent of his body wash (citrus), cologne (pine, for the season), and his mother’s fabric softener (lavender). He dips down slightly and kisses along Lance’s collarbone, until the fingers in his hair disappear and suddenly they’re under his chin.

                Lance tilts his head back up and meets his eyes, glittering mischievously. “My lips are up here, Kogane.”

                Keith smiles and leans back into him, back into the warmth of his mouth and his touch. The fireworks in his stomach from earlier have fizzled out into sparks, but still electrify him from the inside out, static shocks jumping between his lips and Lance’s.

                “I love you,” Keith breathes out between one kiss and the next. “My heart.” Another kiss. “My better half.” Keith’s hand slides up from Lance’s shoulder to the back of his neck. “My soulmate.” He bumps his nose into Lance’s cheek. “My Starboy.” He presses his forehead against Lance’s as they pause to breathe. “Mine.”

                The sparks are enough to keep the giddiness bubbling inside of his chest, tightening with every passing second as he hands the lead off to Lance, who very carefully kisses the different parts of Keith's face, muttering quietly in Spanish that Keith’s too exhausted to comprehend.

                “Corazón,” he murmurs as he kisses Keith’s nose. “Cariño.” One eyelid. “Querido.” The other. “Luz de las estrellas.” His forehead. “Mi vida.” Left cheek. “Mi alma.” Right cheek. “Mi amor.” His mouth, again, softer than every other time before.

                Their foreheads come together once more, and Keith shuts his eyes and basks in the sensation of Lance holding him—Lance holding his roughest edges with the gentlest hands, quieting his meanest demons with the kindest eyes, the safest place from his most dangerous thoughts.

                The truest home he’s ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're in love, susan
> 
> i'm on break for three more weeks so i wanna try and take a break from this fic so in the meantime:  
> -consider reading [stealing our own place in the sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441), the fix-it fic i'm going to try and focus on these next few weeks  
> -consider reading [deceit so natural](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406), the klance trilogy i wrote between seasons 2 and 6 (i promise it's better than canon :P)
> 
> see u later alligators


	60. importance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a drive home, at 2 AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be some cheesy "keith and lance are in the car on the way home from somewhere quite obnoxiously jamming to the radio on an empty highway" chapter but rapidly turned into "they're so in love it physically hurts bc keith is cheesy and oh god how did lance get this lucky"
> 
> also i'm crying

                It’s been too long.

                Lance leans back in the passenger seat of Keith’s Jeep as they speed down the highway under the cover of the dark, cities twinkling in the distance, smokestacks funneling white clouds tinted orange by exterior lights into the sky.

                It’s gotta be almost two in the morning, and the road stretches out in front of them, nearly empty of cars as clouds roll in overhead. No rain yet, no need for overly-cautious driving. Conditions just safe enough to allow Keith to have one hand on the wheel, and the other on Lance’s lap, laced with his.

                They were belting the songs on the radio, earlier, but now they relax in their seats, throats slightly sore and lungs still recovering. But it’s okay—two AM is the time for quiet and taking in the sights, listening to airplanes hum overhead, listening to the car rumbling along.

                “I missed this,” Lance says quietly, leaning his other arm against the door, propping his head up on one hand. “Gonna miss this again when we go back to school.”

                “We’ve got two and a half more weeks,” Keith says, trying for a lighter tone as he rubs a thumb along Lance’s knuckles. “We’re just gonna have to do this more often before we go back.”

                Lance turns toward him, takes in the profile illuminated by the streetlights, bathed in their glow every few seconds as he drives along. His mouth curves up—content, the slightest bit confident. The wind whips his hair back, pushes the strands completely out of his face, exposing his cheeks, his forehead in all of their glory.

                _I want to kiss that face._

                The holiday sap still hasn’t run its course (or at least, that’s what Lance is calling it now, an excuse for the overload of affection for Keith that won’t leave him alone). He wants to kiss every inch of Keith’s face—the slope of his nose, his eyelids and eyelashes that have no business being that long or dark, his rare and elusive forehead, all over his cheeks, up and down the long scar on the right side of his face, his _lips._

                “Guess we’ll need to find new places to visit,” Lance says. “Plan entire days out.”

                Keith’s smile deepens. “Sounds good to me. Project for tomorrow morning?”

                _Project for tonight,_ Lance almost says, but remembers the hour, and remembers that as soon as they get back to Keith’s house, they’ll likely both wipe out completely.

                “Yeah,” he agrees. “Breakfast in our PJs, and we take over the kitchen trying to plan things out.”

                “That works,” Keith says, and turns the car down an exit ramp. “My mom’s got stuff to do, and Shiro’s probably gonna sleep in before he goes to work, so that leaves the house to us till our shifts. Or at least, we’ll be the only ones up. Besides Red and Kosmo...and maybe Black.”

                “Going on another early-morning walk?” Lance teases, and thinks back to a few days ago; to Keith, stumbling along the sidewalk half-awake with Kosmo pulling insistently on his leash, because Keith refused to let there be an accident in the house, but Kosmo refused to go by himself in the backyard.

                “Lance, I swear to you, this morning felt like a freaking apocalypse movie,” Keith says, and cuts a glance at his fiancé. “The sky was cloudless on one end. Other end was completely white, like overcast white. The whole neighborhood was dead silent save for some wind chimes somewhere. I swear to you…”

                He continues on his sudden spike in energy, describing Kosmo’s stopping every two feet to stare at nothing, to sniff the empty air; describing the absence of his neighbors, even those whose cars sat in driveways, indicating their being home.

                “You really paid attention on those movie nights, huh,” Lance mutters when Keith is done, feels his heart swell in his chest, feels the first delirious tears of happiness sting his eyes.

                “Of course I did,” Keith responds without a beat of hesitation. “They’re your favorites.”

                “Y’know, other than Hunk, I think you’re the only other person who _actually_ watched those movies with me,” Lance muses. “My siblings would all get up and leave or take out their phones. Pidge never paid attention. I think Shay fell asleep one time.”

                Keith’s smile fades, morphs into a frown, and part of Lance immediately regrets his words.

                _I want the moon to come back._

                “That’s...shitty of them,” Keith decides, ever-eloquent. “I don’t know, but to me, that’s just...your favorite things are a part of you, aren’t they? You tried to show them a piece of yourself, and they just...wow.”

                So maybe Lance regrets his words a little less.

                “Eh,” he mutters with a shrug. “I...didn’t see it that deeply, but if you wanna look at it like that—”

                “You definitely did,” Keith interrupts. “I swear to God, you said that to me during, what was it? That one _Indiana Jones_ rip-off? It was like four in the morning, summer between junior and senior year, and you were getting emotional over it.”

                _Oh._

                Lance blinks, and his vision blurs. Keith glances at him again, eyes widening.

                “A-Are you crying?!”

                “And what about it?”

                “But _why?_ ”

                Keith sounds so genuinely confused that Lance’s heart aches. Physically aches. This must be what death feels like. He’s said before that Keith Kogane would be the death of him, and maybe that day’s finally arrived. Maybe it can save him from answering.

                He waits a few seconds, but death never comes. So he sucks in a shuddering breath and wipes a hand over his eyes and lets loose what should be a breath but comes out a laugh, incredulous.

                “Because,” he says. “You remember all the stupid stuff I say. Even when I’m babbling at four in the morning in the middle of a shitty action movie.”

                “Well, yeah,” Keith says in such a matter-of-fact manner that the ache in Lance’s heart spreads to the rest of his chest. “I like listening to you talk, and the things you say are important. _You’re_ important.”

                Keith purses his lips as he continues driving, off of the highway and onto the backroads of town, and Lance stares. Stares with tears in his eyes and his heart racing and a lump sitting in the middle of his throat. Every day he tells himself that after two and a half years, there’s no way he could possibly fall more in love, even in his bottomless reserves of love, because it’s all for Keith. Always has been.

                Every day, Keith proves him wrong. Even a bottomless reserve of love will never be enough to describe the feeling devouring Lance from the inside out. He can spend eternity chasing the perfect expression of his love, something that lives up to everything Keith deserves, and it will never be enough.

                It doesn’t mean he’ll never stop trying.

                “I love you,” he finally breathes out, and squeezes Keith’s hand. “So much.” His voice strains against the lump in his throat, and his grip on Keith’s hand accidentally becomes steely. He’s lucky—they arrive home just a minute or two later. Keith painstakingly lets go of his hand to cut the engine and get out of the car, and Lance follows suit.

                Then he runs around the car and practically tackles Keith.

                Keith ends up pinned between Lance and the driver’s-side door, in a crushing hug that momentarily steals the air from his lungs. Then Lance pulls back, only to flick his eyes down to Keith’s mouth, and then raise them again, meeting his gaze in question.

                Keith answers by grabbing Lance’s face and closing the distance himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're so in love i'm still crying


	61. welcome back (again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a return to campus...early

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after two weeks i return to this fic
> 
> am i projecting? 
> 
> oh absolutely the northeast is getting FUCKED right now of course i want to see them snowed in with each other
> 
> **trigger warning for ,,, sexual,,,, ish???? stuff?????? are hickeys sexual??????? ...meh if ur here now u probably read chapter 26 of squad up ur good, they're in college and have been dating for years they're touchy and make inappropriate jokes and the fic is tagged m, you know whether or not u should be reading this**

                They arrive Saturday afternoon to a nearly-empty campus.

                “Apocalypse movie weather,” Keith had muttered under his breath when he and Shiro arrived to campus, the McClains pulling into the parking lot of their dorm in the next space. That’d earned a sunny smile from Lance, bright in stark contrast to the overcast skies above, as the impending snowstorm drew ever-closer.

                Hours later, and now they’re holed up on Lance’s bed, surrounded by blankets and pillows with Keith resting between Lance’s legs and a laptop propped up in front of both of them, while Lance’s arms snake around Keith’s waist.

                Just them, the privacy of their room, and their emptier-than-usual residence hall.

                It was either move in a day earlier than scheduled, ahead of the storm, or move back in Monday and give themselves no time to re-acclimate to the environment after a month and a half away. The decision was easy; neither regretted anything on the way up, and still don’t now, with Lance leaving a trail of kisses along the side of Keith’s neck, movie before him largely forgotten.

                Their residence hall and room itself may be freezing, with the heaters still sputtering after their long stretch of disuse, but Keith’s skin burns, every kiss from Lance the ignition of a match. The fire blazes up to his face and sears his cheeks, and he buries himself in his hands and groans.

                “I’m gonna need a fucking scarf tomorrow, aren’t I?”

                “Mmm, nah.” Lance draws back long enough to respond, long enough for Keith to turn around and see his cheeky grin and flush all over again. “Not like we’re gonna be going anywhere except down the hall, anyway. Did you see the snow? The storm just _started_. No way they’re opening the dining hall tomorrow, which means—”

                “All our meals in here,” Keith finishes, like Lance hasn’t worriedly rambled about this several times over the last week, especially in their run to Target to restock their food supply for the new semester.

                “Yep, and I’ve got quite the snack—”

                “Okay, _no_ —” Keith presses a hand over Lance’s mouth, but Lance wiggles his eyebrows anyway, and Keith sighs and slumps over, shoves all his weight backwards as Lance topples over into the pile of pillows, and Keith crashes down on top of him.

                “Too far?” Lance asks, voice muffled by virtue of the back of Keith’s head and a whole bunch of hair being on his mouth.

                “Not gonna lie, it was cute up to the snack comment,” Keith responds, and rolls over so his chin nestles against Lance’s chest, and he can look him in the eyes as Lance brings a hand to the back of his head and cards fingers through his hair.

                “Noted, I’m sorry.”

                “Thank you.” Keith shuts his eyes and looses a breath and goes limp against Lance, while Lance continues to twist around strands of his hair.

                “Y’know the laptop is still on the bed and one of us needs to move it if it’s bedtime, right?” Lance says, but his voice drops to a whisper this time, like he’s not wholly committed to the idea of disturbing Keith’s peaceful state.

                Keith groans again.

                “I’ll get it.”

                With a grunt, he sits back up and reaches for the laptop, and then reaches as far as he can manage and sets it down on the desk right next to the foot of the bed. Then he collapses backwards and resumes his position against Lance, while Lance fixes the blankets around them.

                “As sad as I am to leave home, I’m glad we’re back here,” Lance says after a few minutes of dark silence. “This is our own little space.”

                And truly, it is. Their dorm is tiny and cramped and not the most ideal living quarters compared to where Shay and Hunk and the other friends on campus live, but it’s also intimate and leaves plenty of excuses to snuggle and it’s _theirs,_ with corkboards and tacky posters and piles of textbooks yet to be organized and _them_.

                “Yeah,” Keith responds. “It’s good to be back.”

                There’s no other place he’d rather get snowed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow can't believe i forgot an end note when this first went up
> 
> anyway
> 
> [sparkle emoji] communicate w ur partners communication is healthy and sexy if ur uncomfy tell them!! if they don't understand then **murder them** [sparkle emoji]


	62. first day blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance is not a happy camper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tuesdays and thursdays are gonna kick my ass, i have two professors i already know i'm not gonna be able to stand
> 
> bless my mwf and my latin/roman civ professor and also my english professor i love them but drama,,,, philosophy,,,, send help (wHY ARE TEACHERS FOR GEN EDS _LIKE THIS_ IT'S A GEN ED PLEASE!!! PLEASE SPARE ME!!!!!!)

                Lance arrives back to the dorm long after it’s gotten dark.

                Keith shuffles around the room in the seconds before the door opens, pulling on his jacket, tugging on his boots, yanking his beanie back over his head, but pauses when the knob turns and Lance enters the room with a groan akin to a zombie’s. He drops his backpack on the floor and drops forward into Keith’s suddenly-open arms.

                Keith cradles the back of his head, and Lance’s own beanie drops to the floor, but Lance doesn’t seem to care. He presses his face firmly into the side of Keith’s neck where it’s nice and warm and goes limp in his grip.

                “Don’t tell me your ass got kicked after the _first day,_ ” Keith says, but his voice drips with affection as he carefully maneuvers backwards, until he’s leaning against the bed, and then tightens his arms around Lance.

                “This is too much, I’m gonna be a college drop-out,” Lance mutters, words muffled by virtue of his face being buried somewhere between Keith’s body and his puffy black jacket. “I can already tell this one professor has it out for us, like he was _not_ friendly and _not friendly_ isn’t my kind of person and I already know the _coursework_ is gonna be difficult but I don’t need _lecture_ trying to kill me too, and—”

                Lance cuts himself off with something halfway between a groan and a scream, while Keith pats his back sympathetically.

                “Let it out, Starboy.”

                Lance blows out a harsh breath through his nose and slowly brings arms around Keith’s back and holds onto him.

                “I wanna cuddle,” he grumbles, and Keith laughs softly.

                “After dinner. C’mon, let’s get some food in you and talk this out, and then we can cuddle. Promise.”

                Lance considers for a moment, and then sighs and releases Keith.

                “That’s it,” Keith says encouragingly, and slides an arm around Lance’s waist. “You can tell me all about your day while we eat, and then we can figure out a game plan. It’s 20BiTeen; this is your year, you hear me?”

                Lance cracks a smile at that and slings an arm around Keith’s shoulder, earning a grin from Keith in return.

                “There he is,” Keith says, and pulls Lance closer to him.

                He leans over; Lance turns his head in time for their lips to brush, there and gone. But even that small touch is enough to send warmth spreading throughout Lance’s frozen system. It wraps around the knot sitting in the pit of his stomach and slowly thaws it, melts it, lets some of the tension in his muscles relax as Keith leads them to the door.

                “You’re gonna survive the semester, okay?” Keith says, right before he turns the knob. “I know you, and you’re not a quitter. You’ve got this. And you’ve got me.”

                And there it is, that promise that echoes through Lance’s entire being. No matter what happens, no matter what’s thrown his way, Keith’s always going to be there, has always got his back—literally, at the moment.

                Keith will also kick his ass if he needs to.

                “Thank you, Keith,” Lance says, quietly, as they step out into the hall and shut the door behind them.

                Keith squeezes his side. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expect extremely infrequent updates on this fic because  
> -i want!!! to work on stealing our own place in the sun  
> -i wanna finish those requests lmao  
> -there's just. other stuff i wanna write
> 
> also if u haven't yet read DECEIT SO NATURAL it's completed i flexed on vld blah blah blah you've heard the spiel a thousand times
> 
> yeet off to do my assigned reading that yesterday's headache prevented


	63. paranoia parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith's paranoid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i'm getting sick and i already have a natural tendency to see things and be paranoid but when i'm sick it's worse and then some Massively Unsettling Shit happened at the dining hall and Coping Mech Corner of my brain went "wow u could klance this"
> 
> so i did
> 
> **trigger warning for paranoia and a panic attack**

                He could deal with the sneezing, could deal with the vaguely nauseous feeling disappearing and reappearing at random, could deal with the occasional random light feeling in his limbs, but this?

                Fuck no.

                Keith continually looks over his shoulder as he and Lance walk out of the dining hall, the sight of the stranger in the window branded into his mind. Lance holding his hand keeps him grounded, keeps him from freaking out completely, even though by now his heart’s whacking against his chest and the light feeling in his limbs turns to full-on numbness.

                He can hardly feel his feet, slapping the sidewalk as he and Lance walk— _why aren’t we running we should be running what if something bad happens what the hell did that mean we need to run, Lance, oh my God we need to go_ —back to the entrance of their residence hall. Lance swipes them in and tugs him off to the elevator.

                By now, he’s gotta know, keeps a level head in the presence of his skittish fiancé.

                “Keith, breathe,” Lance reminds him once the door shuts, leaving them alone in the elevator. He drags Keith into him, wraps arms around his back and cradles his head and doesn’t let go. “It’s alright. Everything’s alright, babe.”

                _Breathe._

                Keith struggles with it while his mind still races and panic still squeezes his lungs, but he tries anyway—reminds himself that they’re at the dorm on the other end of the quad, separated from the dining hall by two buildings, and the guy in the window’s long gone, and even if he comes back he’ll never find them, not in their room on the fourth floor, with plenty of places to hide.

                Keith’s mind runs through every spot in the room he can squeeze into if he needs to, every covert corner, the space in the closets and underneath their beds and envisions a raised alarm, dorms on lockdown—

                “Hey, hey, hey, Keith, look at me—Keith, you’re zoning out. Babe—babe, hey, come back to me.”

                A forehead on his.

                Keith refocuses on the boy in front of him to find Lance’s eyes boring into his. Lance’s hand slides from the back of his neck to the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone in an effort to calm him down. Keith tilts his head into Lance’s palm and closes his eyes and tries to shift gears, tries to latch onto that instead of the chaos in his brain.

                “You’re okay,” Lance repeats. “We’re okay. I know you’re paranoid, but it’s okay.”

                The elevator dings as it slows to a stop on their floor. Lance drops his arm around Keith’s shoulder and ushers them out, still hangs on when he gets the door to their room open and they both duck inside. Keith locks it after them, just for their own safety— _can’t be too sure, can never be too sure_ —

                Keith backs away and shrugs off his coat. He barely has time to drape it over his chair before Lance’s arms encircle him again and bring him down to the floor, where there are already blankets and pillows set up, leftover from the fort they built last night and didn’t bother deconstructing entirely.

                “What the fuck was that?” Keith whispers. “Who the _fuck was that guy_ and _why did he do that?_ ”

                “I don’t know.” Lance’s voice is low and soothing as he holds Keith, pressing his face into the slope between his neck and shoulder. “But you’re safe now, okay? You’re safe, Starlight. I’ve got you.”

                Keith fights off a full-body tremor. Paranoia, sickness, he can’t tell—can’t tell if one’s making the other worse, can’t tell if his paranoia is stemming from oncoming disease, not sure he even wants to know.

                _Seeing things,_ he tells himself. _You’re seeing things and making other things worse than they need to be._

                “Talk to me,” Lance coaxes gently. “You with me?”

                Keith manages a nod, then remembers Lance wants _words_ and manages a hoarse, “Yeah.”

                “Good, good.” Lance’s fingers tangle in Keith’s hair, other hand trails slowly up and down Keith’s back in light strokes. “You wanna go somewhere? Y’wanna get away from the quad for a little bit? Maybe hit Late Night?”

                Keith hesitates.

                Is it better or worse to go somewhere teeming with people? Better or worse to lose themselves in a crowd? Better or worse to head away from the safety of their dorm, when Keith was panicking just being outside, breathing the same night air as...whoever that guy was?

                “No,” he answers with a shake of his head. “Just wanna stay here tonight.”

                “Okay,” Lance says.

                Keith itches to tell Lance to leave the dorm if he really wants to, itches to insist he’ll be fine alone, but he _knows Lance_ , and knows Lance won’t leave him to wallow in his worries, and he certainly won’t _drag_ him out in public when he’s likely coming down with something, and being in a crowd like Late Night’s could trigger his sensory overload.

                “I have an idea,” Lance says, and shifts underneath Keith. Keith lets him go and scoots over as Lance gets up, and starts dragging one of their nightstands back into the center of the room, and then grabs his laptop. “Why don’t we just spend the night watching some musicals?”

                Musicals. Light enough, and definitely good to take his mind off of whatever the hell that’d been at the dining hall.

                “Okay,” Keith replies, and a smile breaks Lance’s face like a sunrise.

                “Alright! I’m gonna get this set up, y’wanna start making popcorn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i know what the fuck that was? no
> 
> will i ever know what the fuck that was? probably not
> 
> anyway i'm gonna go get coffee so i can write more of soopits and get my laundry done byeeee


	64. sickness? who tf knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith's not doin so hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [emma from tgwdlm voice] FUCK periods  
> [paul from tgwdlm voice] fuck 'em !
> 
> ya so anyway i figured out why i've been Like That these past few days [insert eyeroll and less-than-enthusiastic jazz hands here]
> 
> **trigger warning for mentions of not eating**

_to_ **starboy <3**  
where are u

 **starboy <3**  
cuttin thru the bio building why

 _to_ **starboy <3**  
can u come get me

 **starboy <3  
**yeah why

 **starboy <3**  
are you okay???

 _to_ **starboy <3  
**i physically cannot get to lecture on my own without fear of passing out

 **starboy <3  
**shit yeah where are u???

 _to_ **starboy <3**  
i’m in the languages building, i was cutting through and had to stop

 **starboy <3**  
alrighty i’m on my way hang tight

                He has to sit down.

                Keith weakly grasps the armrest of one of the chairs in the window-lined hallway and sits down in it, ignores the shaking in his hands that threaten the rest of him as he hangs his head, bangs falling in his face.

                _Water,_ he reminds himself. He grabs the water bottle in the side pocket of his backpack and manages a few sips for his aching throat, dry throat, dehydrated self. He clutches the bottle loosely between his fingers as other students walk by, either oblivious to or ignoring his plight.

                He only looks up when a shadow blots out the light from the ceiling, and relief washes over Keith when his eyes land on Lance, wearing all the concern in the world.

                “What happened to you?”

                Lance keeps his voice hushed as he sits down next to Keith, squishes in like they don’t have a lecture in ten minutes, like he’s stopping to catch up with an old friend or study or _whatever_ excuse might leave his mouth if someone asks. He lays the back of his hand across Keith’s forehead and frowns.

                “No fever…”

                His eyes search the rest of Keith’s face, but the bags under his eyes are minimal, the usual; no red rims, no puffiness, no tears. They trail down to his hands, and his frown deepens when he sees them shaking. So he reaches out and takes them, twines their fingers.

                “Keith, _what’s wrong?_ ”

                Truthfully, Keith has no clue, and would love an answer for himself. His best guess is illness; it’s the height of flu season, campus rife with students coughing and sneezing and staying in their dorms to ride out their disease or attending class anyway, because their professor’s policy on attendance is too strict to not.

                “Sick, maybe?” Keith manages.

                One of Lance’s hands slides down to Keith’s wrist, thumb rubbing back and forth over his pulse point, soothing strokes that Keith tries to time his breathing with, counting off the seconds in his head.

                “Did you eat at all today?” Lance asks. “If you’re getting sick, especially, you need to eat properly.”

                No, Keith hasn’t. He’s had vague, on-and-off nausea for days, hasn’t been eating as much as he probably should be for meals, hasn’t exactly been eating lunch just due to the way he scheduled his classes this semester. It seemed like a good idea, at the time, but now it’s back to bite him in the ass.

                He explains as much to Lance, who automatically releases one of Keith’s hands to rummage around in his backpack. Seconds later, he produces a granola bar and hands it off. Keith stows it in the pocket of his jacket, earning a pointed look from Lance.

                “I promise, I’ll eat it during lecture,” he says. “Granted the nausea doesn’t start up again.”

                He drops his voice on the second part, while Lance squeezes his wrist. “Just try for me, okay? And if you’re nauseous, then at least keep drinking water. Stay hydrated.”

                His eyes continue roving over Keith’s form. He can’t call him out for not wearing enough layers—he’s worn his puffy jacket to class almost every day, on top of thick socks covered up by his boots, his beanie, a scarf, gloves kept safely in his pockets.

                “Anything else happening lately? Sensory overload?”

                Keith shakes his head. “Not really.”

                “Stressing out?”

                “...Only a little.”

                That’s _normal,_ to be expected at the start of a new semester, and it’s mostly been centered on the plain and simple fact that he’s about to go a whole semester skipping out on lunch every single day, or eating something small to compensate.

                “Babe—”

                “It wasn’t serious enough to warrant a discussion,” Keith interrupts. “We’ve gotta get going, c’mon.”

                “You’re trying to cut off the conversation, you’re _not slick_ —” Lance says, but lets Keith pull him up anyway, and intertwines their fingers as they start out of the Languages building, heading in the direction of the Physics building.

                “Lance, I _promise,_ if it was something so world-endingly awful, or at least enough to put me into an episode, I’d tell you,” Keith says.

                “Any problem you have is world-ending, Mullet,” Lance says, “because _you’re_ my world.”

                Keith groans and feigns disgust as he pulls his hand away from Lance’s. “That’s it, I’ll get to class by myself, that was the worst thing I’ve heard all day.”

                Lance throws his arm around Keith’s waist with a yelp, earning looks from the other students walking by them—not that Keith minds, as he melts back into Lance’s warm grip, and Lance kisses his cheek.

                “See? All it took was me being annoying to get you back up and running,” he says.

                “You’re _not_ annoying,” Keith responds almost immediately, tilting his head to rest it slightly on Lance’s shoulder. “You’re a little shit, but you’re my little shit, so it’s endearing.”

                And Lance is wrong on that other count, that it’s his being annoying that’s gotten Keith moving— he feels _safer_ , now that he knows Lance is here to watch him and make sure he doesn’t do something stupid like wipe out in the middle of the hallway. He feels safer with Lance’s arm around him to catch him if he falls. He feels safer _period._

                “Thanks for coming to get me,” Keith says, voice quieter this time.

                Lance just squeezes the arm around Keith’s waist. “Always. You and me.”

                Keith huffs out a laugh. “Us against the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> n e ways
> 
> student union dunkin guy is back and he's already told me he's gonna try and memorize my order so Hoo Boy Another Semester Of This Shit
> 
> ANYWAYS
> 
> YEET i'm gonna go work on soopits byyyyyeeeeeeeeeeee


	65. sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's nice out for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been really nice the last two days so all i can think about is Them being soft in the sunshine so guess what i wrote it have a ball no trigger warnings here just a lot of love and happy boys!!!

                It’s warm out.

                Keith walks out of his dorm in the morning with his body tense, expecting a chill to send tremors down his spine and leech the warmth from him and his jacket. But it doesn’t. The sun shines overhead and he squints, as he takes in _heat,_ takes in weather above forty degrees for what feels like the first time in forever.

                Behind him, Lance sighs contentedly.

                “ _Finally_ ,” he mutters, and when Keith glances back, Lance has paused; his eyes are closed as he inhales air fresh with the melting snow and the reemerging grass, while sunlight catches his hair and illuminates him in gold.

                Absently, Lance reaches for Keith’s hand and takes it, intertwining their fingers; his smile deepens when Keith settles into his grip, and he opens his eyes to look right at him. His eyes _water,_ but he blinks the gathering tears away and begins pulling Keith off toward the dining hall with the remark that _today’s gonna be a good day, I can feel it._

                Over breakfast, Keith watches in awe, as the layers peel back, one-by-one, seasonal depression’s hold slips loose, Lance doesn’t stop smiling. He stretches his legs out and drapes them on Keith’s lap over breakfast, while Keith absently runs a hand over his shin, as they go over their schedules for the day.

                Lecture together this morning, then Keith has two more classes back-to-back, and then he’s done for the day, while Lance’s classes run later into the afternoon, into evening. They have approximately two hours of overlapping freetime in early afternoon, and may or may not get to have dinner together.

                “But we can maybe go get coffee at one of the cafés later…?” Lance asks hopefully, and the sunlight slanting through the window catches the end of his mouth, catches his dimple. Keith wants to touch it, wants to kiss it, wants to skip out on all of his classes and spend the day outdoors with his fiancé.

                “Yeah, yeah,” Keith replies, snapping back to the conversation and nodding. He rests his hand over Lance’s, but Lance has other ideas, and leans over on Keith’s shoulder, already done with his breakfast. Keith lets him, and changes to draping an arm around him as he finishes off the last of his first coffee of the day.

                “You know I love you, right?” Lance asks out of nowhere, and Keith chokes on his final sip.

                Lance sits up, if only to let Keith get his bearings; even still, he rests a hand on Keith’s back as Keith beats his chest twice, sputters for air, thankfully doesn’t draw much attention by virtue of the dining hall being mostly-empty as he whips around to stare at Lance.

                “Yeah? Why?”

                Lance shrugs, not put off in the least. “Just thought you should know.”

                _I do know,_ Keith thinks. Lance is all over him and they’re wearing matching rings on their fingers and Keith kissed his freckles this morning while Lance kissed his nose and his forehead and his eyelids and finally his mouth. They’ve slept in the same bed every night of this semester just like they did last semester, one in the other’s arms or sometimes both in each other’s.

                But this is Lance, and it’s like the weather’s made a home for itself inside of him, warmth and light radiating out of his soul.

                “I love you too,” Keith says, voice gone softer, after a few moments of staring, of studying Lance’s eyes, swirling with several different emotions, all of them overshadowed by love as his smile deepens.

                The smile doesn’t slip from his face the rest of the morning— not during lecture, where they’re half-asleep on top of each other; not during the class he has after; not in the time Keith’s in class, blowing up Lance’s phone with live commentary on something some kid in his class said that made his professor go off on a twenty minute tangent about the plague (in a class about color theory), and definitely not when he and Keith sprawl out on a blanket in the middle of the Student Union lawn, soaking up the sun, with their iced coffees.

                Lance babbles on about his other class this morning, rants about one of the professors he’s going to have to see later on this afternoon, starfishes out on the blanket while Keith traces fingers over his shoulders, down his arms, over his hands, along the slope of his nose and his jawline.

                “Take a picture,” Lance stops to joke at some point, flashing teeth in a cheeky grin. “It’ll last longer.”

                “Alright,” Keith says, and digs around in his bag, produces his Polaroid camera, and aims it at Lance, who throws up a peace sign at the last second.

                Lance peers over Keith’s shoulder as the photo develops, and then frowns at it.

                “It’s missing something,” he remarks, and for a moment Keith thinks Lance is going to take the photo and do something to it, but instead, he grabs the camera with one hand and throws his other arm tightly around Keith and drags him in, and holds the camera high above their heads. “Smile!”

                In the second before Lance snaps the picture, Keith grabs his face, turns his head, and kisses him.

                “That one’s going on the fridge,” Lance says, still _fucking smiling_ when Keith pulls back. “Gonna have to invite all our friends into the dorm so I can show it off.”

                _So I can show you off,_ say Lance’s eyes, and once the photo develops, he sets the camera down and pulls Keith back in, because he’s got twenty minutes before he has to leave for class, and he’s going to make them count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY'RE IN LOVE, SUSAN!!
> 
> also if u want more kl, i'm doing sher's [klance au month](twitter.com/monthlyklance), so hop on over to [light up the sky (through a path full of stars)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17630867/chapters/41570840) for more kl content!!! they're in love across all universes!!!


	66. is this necessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a fire drill, ft. freezing temperatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aside from absolutely blinding panic (read: there is an alarm in our room, directly outside our door, AND in the stairwell (which is ALSO directly outside our door) and some pretty fucking swift sensory overload, i'm doing good
> 
> is it wrong to say i've been waiting for a fire drill to happen so i could write this chapter
> 
> anyhoo
> 
> **trigger warning for sensory overload, keith having a panic attack**

                Realistically, Keith should’ve anticipated a fire drill.

                There were two that he can recall last semester, and he’d been out of the dorm for both of them; once, he was in the dining hall, and the other, he’d been halfway across campus doing his homework. This time, though, he’s mid-sentence, joking around with Lance in the dark of their dorm, when shrieking from overhead cuts him off.

                It’s loud.

                Unbearably so.

                Keith’s hands fly to his ear as he shoves up from his chair, heart squeezing while his lungs momentarily cease working, and his head spins like he’s taken a physical blow. It’s bad enough, because he’s already taken his contacts out and swapped to glasses for the night, and he can’t _fucking see them,_ even though he knows they’re sitting two feet away. He’s not wearing shoes, either, and it’s dark and the lightswitch is across the room and he doesn’t have time to run and turn it on and find his slippers because _they need to go_ —

                _Bed._

                That’s where Keith last left his slippers, that’s why the word flies into his brain, and he’s moving—swiping his coat from the back of his chair— _breathe_ —

                “Breathe, Keith,” Lance shouts more than says, not because he’s angry or exasperated but because it’s the only way Keith can hear him over the alarm. He still rattles Keith anyway, and Keith nearly trips when he tries to walk because his legs have gone jelly-like in the five seconds since the alarm’s gone off.

                _You have to move, you have to go._

                Keith makes his legs work, _one foot in front of the other,_ and while he stumbles into his slippers, Lance grabs his arm to hold him steady, and then leans over and swipes his glasses from his desk and practically shoves them on Keith’s face. Having his vision clearer makes the sensory overload trying to force his system into a shutdown a little easier to handle, but not much.

                “C’mon, you can put your coat on outside, just don’t let go of me,” Lance says, and opens the door to see students spilling into the hallway and down stairwells, bemoaning the cold outside and the fact that _do we really need to have a fire drill when the temperatures are literally at freezing? Really?_

                Keith can save his confusion about how other people knew but not himself and Lance for another day. Right now, he tries and fails to focus in on one sensation at a time, because the fire alarm’s screeching _really isn’t fucking helping._

                _Lance,_ his brain chants at him.

                Lance knows what to do; squeezes out a steady rhythm on Keith’s hand as he pulls him down the stairs and tries to match Keith’s strides, while Keith’s heart jackhammers and his ears are assaulted by _that now,_ too.

                He doesn’t get reprieve until he and Lance are outside in the cramped parking lot behind their building, surrounded by other students in various states of dress. Some people wear towels and shiver, with the unfortunate luck of being in the shower. Others are completely bundled up and wearing backpacks, like they were just on their way back in. And then there’s Keith, somewhere in the middle. And encircled by Lance’s arms.

                Lance cradles him close and wraps him up in his jacket, and then presses his face into the side of his neck.

                “Breathe,” he whispers again, mouth close to Keith’s ear. “If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them you’re cold all the time, and you’re tired.”

                _Breathe._

                It’s a drill—he’s safe—he’s out of the building and he’s in Lance’s arms— _breathe, Keith_ —

                Lance grabbed him around the back but underneath his coat; no one can see the hand now slowly rubbing up and down along his spine, calming. No one bothers looking in his direction or paying him any mind as he counts off seconds, silently urging Keith to breathe along with him— _in, one, two, three, four, hold, one two, three, four, five, six, seven, out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._

                Lance continues counting until Keith’s breathing evens out, while they wait for the all-clear from the firefighters apparently roaming their dorm so they can go back inside. Once Keith’s breathing right again, he still doesn’t separate from Lance. Instead, the tension leaves his body all at once, and he melts into Lance’s grip.

                “I’ve got you,” Lance mutters to him, fingers running gently through his hair. “You good now?”

                Even when Keith nods, Lance doesn’t let him go. Just leans his head over until his cheek is up against Keith’s temple and lets a breath go. “Nice. Okay. Alright. When we get back in, we’re cuddling. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

                Keith’s brain still doesn’t want to make words, so he just nods again and hopes Lance knows he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah
> 
> anyway
> 
> that was not fucking necessary
> 
> also other people knew there was a drill how the hell did i not know
> 
> i'm a lurker i know everything
> 
> have u seen my [twitter thread of shit i hear on this campus](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener/status/1091842184100364293)
> 
> anyhoo
> 
> see ya


	67. knife shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the short valentine's day chapter that i definitely did not have the time to write but did anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did someone order some sweet giggly boys

                Their Valentine’s Day date isn’t exactly the pinnacle of romantic endeavors as prescribed by the films, but it’s more than enough for them. Every day is more than enough, if they’re both honest, because they’re already lucky enough to have each other, as far as they’re concerned.

                “Race ya!”

                The words are barely out of Lance’s mouth before he starts toward the other end of the skating rink on wobbling legs, and Keith shakes his head and laughs, and easily glides up to his side, and then spins in a slow circle until he’s facing Lance, and skating fucking _backwards_.

                “Are you sure racing me is the best idea?” Keith asks, and Lance glares at him, although the smile tugging up the ends of his mouth betrays his indignation.

                “Positive. Now, outta my way so I can kick your—hey!”

                Keith laughs as he whirls around and tears for the other side of the rink before Lance can finish his statement. And though Lance is wobbling, he still makes an effort, stays on his feet, gets a decent speed as he chases after Keith, only to nearly careen into another girl. He skids out of the way at the last minute and loses his footing, skates sliding underneath him, but then there’s a pair of arms around him helping him back upright.

                “You’re gonna kick my ass, huh?” Keith chuckles as his lips brush against Lance’s ear, and then he laughs again, full-on, as a shiver shoots down Lance’s spine. There’s no way he can possibly play that off as being due to the cold of the rink, because he’s dressed in several layers of both his own sweatshirts and jackets and Keith’s.

                Keith spins so he’s facing Lance again, and then takes his hands. “C’mon. I’ve got you.”

                He releases only one of his hands, and then takes up a position at Lance’s side and pulls him along at a steady pace. Not fast like before, with his hair flying out behind him, (and the thought crosses Lance’s mind—he wants to run his fingers through Keith’s hair, wants to be back in their dorm, cuddling, _maybe_ making out), but at a speed Lance can keep up with, without falling flat on his face and taking Keith down with him.

                They loop around the rink several times before they decide to call it quits, because Lance would like to walk on his own two feet again, instead of on the knife shoes, as Keith jokingly called them at about two in the morning last weekend, when they’d been making their plans for today.

                _“Knife shoes,” he’d giggled deliriously, with his head in Lance’s lap and tears of laughter streaming down the sides of his head. “Skates are fucking knife shoes—”_

 _“You’re a dork,” Lance had remarked after, pushing Keith’s bangs out of his face and peppering his forehead with kisses, “but you’re my dork.” And then a quieter mutter: “Knife shoes, fucking weirdo…” And that was_ weirdo _with the utmost affection, because Keith was the only person he could be up with at two in the morning talking about knife shoes without getting judged for it._

_“We go home over break,” Keith wheezed, “and we strap knives to our shoes, and see if it’s more or less the same.”_

_When Keith had the bad ideas, Lance knew it was time for bed. Regardless that Keith’s bad idea left him in stitches as he imagined trying to skate around the hardwood floors of the Brogane residence, scratching them up, Shiro having an aneurysm when he walked in._

                They’d go have dinner at one of the little restaurants on campus, if it weren’t a Thursday night, but it _is_ a Thursday night, and they’ve both got class tomorrow, so they head back to the dining hall for late night dinner. It’s about the most romantic they can manage on a budget.

                But the _most_ most romantic thing is probably Keith’s antics.

                In honor of Valentine’s Day, just as the staff has done for every holiday, the dining hall has jars full of candy interspersed among the desserts. Keith covertly stuffs as much chocolate and other candy as he can into his jacket pockets without getting caught as he pretends to peruse the array of cake slices, cupcakes, brownies, chocolate-covered pretzels, and other various desserts.

                Lance doesn’t even notice until they’re back in their dorm, and candy rains down over their shag carpet as Keith shakes out his jacket.

                “Keith, what the _fuck_?” Lance asks, eyes widening, and Keith shrugs.

                “If I’m gonna pay a fuckton of money for a meal plan, may as well make the most of it.”

                And this is what Lance gets, for having a fiancé with a sweet tooth like Keith’s. Regardless, he practically tackles Keith in a hug, laughing, and then Keith is joining him, collapsing backwards as his back hits the bed, and Lance’s mouth slots against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've spent most of the night crying over the mars rover how's it going


	68. he remembered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's snowing during laundry night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's play FIND THAT LINE
> 
> i wrote a oneshot almost exactly a year ago and the forecast lined up and i've been feeling sappy
> 
> find the oneshot and the line relevant to this snippet GO

                “Hey.”

                Lance’s voice is quiet as he nudges Keith—Keith, who’s slumped over in his chair, open laptop warming his lap, his legs stretched out and resting on top of Lance’s, while Lance has his feet up on the little table in front of them.

                The heat of the laundry room really isn’t helping his issues staying awake, and neither is the rumble of the washers and dryers.

                “Mm…? Yeah?” Keith manages, voice hoarse as he blinks a few times, in an effort to keep his eyes open.

                “Put your laptop down and get up, I’ve gotta show you something,” Lance says, and reaches out for Keith’s computer. Keith lets him take it; once it’s off of him, he swings his legs down, off of Lance’s, while Lance gets to his feet and puts Keith’s computer down on the table.

                He offers a hand to Keith, and Keith takes it without hesitation, without question. Then he pulls the pair of them away from the little lounge outside of the laundry room, over to the door that leads out of their building and onto the quad.

                “You’ve got your ID to swipe us back in?” Keith asks, and Lance fishes around in his pocket and produces his Student ID, complete with the smiling photo of him that he had Keith take, a photo that’s going to follow him all four years at Arus. Then he stuffs it back into his pocket and opens up the door, and tugs Keith outside.

                Keith suddenly understands why.

                Lamplight from wrought-iron posts bathes the quad in orange; above, the sky, deep gray, glows with traces of that same orange light, while fluffy white flakes drift to the ground, on top of a layer of snow from Monday that’d only just begun melting earlier in the day.

                Lance pulls Keith closer and slides an arm around his waist, while Keith rests his arm on Lance’s shoulder and presses against him, chest-to-chest. Lance squeezes their intertwined hands, and begins stepping in a slow circle.

                The light catches the edges of Lance’s hair, while flakes get caught up in his curls. Keith raises his arm—props his elbow on Lance’s shoulder and runs fingers through Lance’s hair, and then cups the back of his head and pulls him in. Lance follows his lead, hand sliding up Keith’s back, underneath his shirt and sweatshirt, warm against his skin and against the cold.

                It’s three in the morning on a Sunday—there are other students still out and about, despite the snow, but none of them seem to bat an eye as Keith and Lance stand in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes closed and the two of them caught up in each other. Keith lets go of Lance’s hand to wrap his other arm around Lance’s neck, while Lance wraps his around Keith’s back and holds tight to the back of Keith’s shoulder.

                _I love you,_ Keith thinks, as he breathes in and out through his nose and tries to pull Lance closer on every inhale. _You remembered. You really remembered._

                Their slow spinning turns into walking—backwards for Lance, forward for Keith, until Lance hits one of the columns supporting the awning over the entrance to their residence hall. Their lips part, momentarily, as Lance utters a small _oof_ , hot breath ghosting across Keith’s upper lip, but then Keith’s mouth is back on his.

                They don’t stop again until Keith draws back, shivering with watery eyes.

                “You really had to wait until all my walls were down, huh?” he teases, choked up. “You wanted to see me cry.”

                “Not really,” Lance says, and brings a hand to Keith’s cheek, uses a thumb to brush away the single tear that manages to break free. “Sorry Starlight.”

                He pushes Keith’s bangs aside and plants a kiss on his forehead, and then Keith buries his face in Lance’s neck and shoulder, while Lance rumbles with quiet laughter. “If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them you’re cold. Wanna go back in now?”

                Keith sniffles, makes himself raise his head, nods. But Lance waits for him— _he always does, he’ll always wait for me_ —to drag a sleeve over his face, gather his bearings, square his shoulders. Then he intertwines their hands again and pulls them back inside to wait out the rest of the drying cycle. This time, Keith doesn’t sit back down in his own chair. He sits down in Lance’s lap and rests his head on Lance’s shoulder, drapes his legs over the arm of the chair while Lance holds him.

                “You’ve got snow in your hair still,” Lance murmurs, and gently flicks at Keith’s head, while Keith tries to slip back into that blurry space between waking and dreaming, safe in Lance’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i'm going to bed the caffeine is wearing off gn


	69. sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance at sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my city now yeehaw

                Their dorm rests on a hill.

                It’s not the tallest hill on a campus full of them— _that one_ is a good twenty minute walk away—but it’s a decent size, all the way on the west side, and allows for a gorgeous view of the sunset, like the one tonight.

                Keith exits the dining hall to a quad bathed in gold, late-winter air warm enough to warrant his vest instead of his big, puffy jacket. He inhales deeply the scent of mud, wet grass, melting snow as he jams his hands into his pockets and begins his walk back to his dorm, at the other end of the quad.

                His walk doesn’t last very long.

                There’s a figure at the other end of the sidewalk, headed in his direction. For the most part, they wear a casual smile, thumb scrolling along on their phone, earbuds still in, when they raise their head and catch sight of Keith, and a giant grin splits their face.

                Lance yanks his headphones out and shoves his phone back into his pocket, and while he breaks into a run, Keith stops dead, breath caught in his lungs.

                If people were times of day, Lance would be sunset.

                His eyes sparkle and reflect the last rays of daylight, while his curls capture and weave it amongst themselves.

                A crown fit for his prince.

                Keith snaps out of his stupor at about the same time Lance barrels into him and flings his arms around him. Shocked for only a second, Keith brings his arms around Lance’s back, slides them underneath his backpack.

                “Hey,” Keith greets, and smiles into Lance’s shoulder, until Lance draws back, lifts a hand to cup his cheek, and then leans in and kisses him right on the mouth. Keith’s still grinning, even as he tries to kiss back, and then kissing suddenly becomes a futile effort because they’re both smiling too hard for their lips to stay together.

                “Hi,” Lance replies, and trails his hands down to Keith’s, twines their fingers, and begins pulling him down the sidewalk. “I’ve got something to show you, c’mere!”

                He doesn’t even wait for Keith to speak up before he starts running again. Keith yelps and stumbles before he falls into step with Lance, weaving through the other residence halls. They duck between their own residence hall and the one next door, jog down the steps leading out to the parking lot behind their building, and over to the wall of concrete at the very edge that leads to a decently-sized drop-off.

                From here, they have a good view of most of the rest of campus, off to the south and east, and a clear view of the sunset over the hills in the west.

                Lance sits down on the concrete, and tugs on Keith’s arm until he sits down next to him, just in time for Lance to throw an arm around his shoulders and lean his head against Keith’s.

                “Don’t you have to eat dinner?” Keith asks.

                “Yeah, but the sunset is happening now, and the dining hall’s open till ten,” Lance replies. “I wanted to watch the sunset, and as luck would have it, I ran into you.”

                Well, less like luck, and more like Keith getting to the dining hall later than usual because he didn’t want to get out of bed, and consequently _leaving_ later than usual, but if Lance wants to consider it luck, then who’s Keith, really, to tell him otherwise?

                He rests his hand on Lance’s thigh and squeezes, while Lance pulls him in closer as the sky changes colors above them, from bright blue to pink, purple, orange, yellow. In the distance, inky blue-black, creeping in.

                “I live for sunsets,” Lance remarks with a dreamy sigh, while Keith turns to get the barest glance of Lance’s profile, the awestruck expression on his face—upturned eyebrows, faint smile, half-lidded eyes, alive but bagged.

                _Bagged but still beautiful._

                “Me too,” Keith says, finding his voice. It comes out hoarse, and when Lance pulls back, turns to him, Keith lifts his other hand, cups Lance cheek, and kisses him.

                Lance is surprised for only a moment before he melts, thawing like the snow. His hand, initially resting somewhere against Keith’s shoulder, reaches up as he tightens his arm around Keith, and his thumb strokes along Keith’s jawline.

                “Why?” Lance whispers when their mouths part, that tiny gap Keith longs to bridge again.

                Instead of bridging it, though, he shrugs.

                “Felt like it. ...You’re a treasure, y’know?”

                Keith can’t decide, in the very next moment, whether or not he regrets his words, because that familiar mischievous twinkle glimmers in Lance’s eye.

                “So that means,” he starts, and Keith automatically groans, which only makes Lance speak louder, rather than cease talking, “if I’m a _treasure_ , then you want my _booty?_ ”

                “That was the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” Keith sighs, slumping forward so his forehead falls against Lance’s, while Lance cackles and brings his arms all the way around Keith, pulls him in closer and presses another kiss to the top of his head.

                “But it wasn’t _wrong_ —”

                “No, that’s why it’s terrible.”

                Lance laughs harder, whole body shaking, and that gets a few giggles out of Keith, as Lance tucks Keith’s head underneath his chin and continues gazing out at the sky. He runs fingers through the hair at the nape of Keith’s neck, until their laughter subsides, and it’s just the two of them, night falling around them.

                “You need to eat dinner,” Keith mutters at some point, voice muffled by virtue of being buried in Lance’s chest.

                “Yeah, I do.”

                Lance releases Keith, and Keith gets to his feet, and then offers a hand that Lance gladly accepts. Keith pulls him up, and begins walking in the direction of the dining hall, while Lance arches an eyebrow.

                “Didn’t you _just eat?_ ”

                “Yeah?” Keith says, and then shrugs again. “I don’t have to eat again, but I still wanna join you. I wanna hear about your day. C’mon.”

                And Lance can’t argue. Not with the soft smile Keith sends his way, not with the warmth of his hand, not with the fact that he doesn’t have to eat alone tonight. So Lance keeps his mouths shut, silently thanks his lucky stars he came back when he did, and begins swinging their hands between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been like 3 months since i updated soopits
> 
> break is coming up
> 
> let's play "how many chapters of soopits can i write in the next two weeks?"
> 
> in the meantime uhh stan [deceit so natural](https://archiveofourown.org/series/767406), where else do you get hunk sassing a galra general, shiro's ptsd actually being addressed, juicy broganes and kl content, hunk actually getting an arc, pidge sassing lotor, and allura kicking ass??


	70. constants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words can be used to comfort or to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i needed a cryptic summary that's the best i've got i'm on my third coffee of the day and break starts in one day wooooooooooooooooooooo

                “So that’s just it. You’re leaving.”

                Bitter. They leave a mouth with a trembling lower lip, on a body with shaking hands as he rises from his bed and crosses his arms, if only to stop from looking like he’s two seconds from shattering, a bubble a poke away from popping.

                “Yeah.”

                Deadpan. Emotionless, and uncaring, and another hand—not shaking, out in the open, clad in fingerless black biker gloves—adjusts the strap of a duffel bag hoisted over one shoulder.

                A look passes between them; a look is severed; the doorknob turns—

                “Running, just like you always do.”

                That punch lands.

                Shoulders bunch as a figure freezes, fingers tighten around the door handle, around the strap of the bag. A half-turn, and narrowed eyes cut back.

                The attack isn’t finished.

                “Why? Is it because you’re cutting me off before I can cut you off? Is that it?” Hands go up in exasperation, and don’t yield an answer. They fall back down to his sides, clap loudly against his legs. “Or are you just sick of me? What, was I just some boy-toy—?”

                “Shut up.”

                Two words, two very dangerous words, practical growls.

                “Make me then!”

                A challenge.

                And the figure in front of the door remains in place, considering, contemplating, turning the offer over in his mind, and in the lack of a response, the other continues on.

                “Yep, yep, I got it. _I goooot it._ I’m just too much for you to handle, and instead of talking things out, you’re just gonna run and play victim—”

                “Yes, _exactly._ ” His voice cuts in sharp, serrated, drags out like a knife from a wound, leaving blood in its wake. “You’re too much, and I’m fucking sick of it. Years ago you didn’t want me anywhere near you, and maybe I should’ve listened then.”

                And there’s no room for a response as the door swings open, squeaks, slams closed.

                And then Lance is alone in his dorm, mouth opening and closing with a lot of words left unsaid; but the production line from his brain to his mouth hasn’t stopped, and the words pile up, jumble, tumble out of him in incredulous sputters.

                He suddenly feels cold, dizzy, and he yanks out his desk chair and sits down, ears ringing and floor warping before his eyes. Then his eyes _burn_ , moisten, and something slips down his cheek—

                “What did I just _do—?_ ”

                But he’s just left.

                There’s still time.

                Lance jumps up from his chair and throws the door back open, sticks his head out and peers in both directions down the hall; but the hall is empty, that familiar mullet gone, along with his duffel bag.

                “Keith?” he calls out, and fully steps into the hall, heartbeat ramping into a gallop. “Keith!”

                He chokes on that one, and then doesn’t get another word out; what escapes instead is a sob, loud enough for the whole floor to hear, and Lance staggers backwards into his room, tremors running through his whole body.

                _Keith._

                The name echoes through his mind, taunting hisses, pounding wardrums, _Keith, Keith, Keith, Keith_ …

                “I didn’t mean it.”

                Weakness in his voice, and it makes Lance feel all the more sick, as the door shuts and he sinks to the floor, draws his knees to his chest, shivers.

                “I didn’t mean it.”

                A whimper, and he keeps repeating it, keeps repeating _I didn’t mean it_ as he buries his face in his knees and swallows down every sob that tries to rise up, even though there’s no one around now to hear him or see him, no one to hold him but no one to mock him—

                Lance gasps, and raises his head to a room dark, instead of bathed in the light from the ceiling.

                “Easy, easy, shh, it’s alright, it’s just me.”              

                Sitting up—Lance is sitting up, somehow. And there are gentle hands on his biceps, squeezing lightly. Then one hand leaves his bicep and cups his chin, tilts his head up until his eyes meet another pair, dark and swirling with galaxies Lance will never finish mapping.

                “Keith?”

                His voice now is a lot more feeble than before, as he takes in the sight of his fiancé before him, bedhead falling into his face.

                “Yeah,” Keith breathes out. “It’s me.”

                “You’re here,” Lance whispers.

                Keith’s brow furrows, but then his face falls, as he comes to understanding. He nods, and gently pulls Lance against him, so Lance’s nose buries in Keith’s shoulder, and Lance is left staring across the way, at the empty side of the room as fresh tears sting his eyes.

                “Yeah, I’m here,” Keith says quietly, hand on the back of Lance’s neck, thumb gently stroking back and forth. “I’m right here. I never left.”

                _But you did._

“Hey, Keith?”

                “Mm?”

                For a moment Lance is silent, lingering in his embrace, and then he pulls back, stares at Keith again, gently cups Keith’s face with both hands. His palm brushes against the scar on Keith’s cheek, still there from the summer.

                “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?”

                “No, Lance, I had no clue,” Keith whispers, sarcastic but soft. “ _Of course_ I know that. I wouldn’t be with you this long if I didn’t.”

                A lump forms in Lance’s throat; two months away from their three-year anniversary, and sometimes he still worries. Sometimes he still needs to hear it. But if Keith’s offended, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he gently scratches at the hair at the nape of Lance’s neck.

                “Nightmare?” he asks, when Lance doesn’t speak right away, and Lance nods. “You wanna talk about it?”

                Lance swallows thickly, and it’s a little hard to do; but Keith’s patient. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry, just continues his gentle motions in a steady rhythm, slow and lingering, and Lance focuses on that. Tries to time his breathing with that. Then he inhales deeply, lets it go, deflates, stares down at his knees.

                “We had some kind of fight, or something,” Lance says. “You were pissed, and you were leaving. I...I threw your insecurities in your face. And then you threw mine back at me, and just...walked out, and didn’t look back. And I guess I _deserved it,_ but…”

                He lifts his eyes back to Keith’s; by now, his brows have slanted down in sorrow, in concern, and Lance supposes he probably mirrors the look.

                “I’m still sorry. I-I don’t know why—”

                “You’re probably stressing out again,” Keith offers. “We can look into it in the morning. And it’s okay. I know….everyone probably thinks things they’ll never say because they know it’s wrong, but that information’s still in your head somewhere. For you, it just manifested like this. But I love you—”

                And even though Lance is the one cupping Keith’s face, Keith leans forward and kisses his cheek.

                “—and I _know you,_ Lance. I know you wouldn’t hurt me. And I wouldn’t hurt you. It was just a bad dream. Now c’mere.”

                Keith wraps his arms back around Lance, and Lance’s wind around Keith’s neck as he buries his face. They tip over sideways, back into the warmth of their mattress and pillows and blankets, Keith holding Lance close, Lance’s face pressed into Keith’s collarbone.

                “I’m still sorry,” Lance mumbles after a few minutes of silence.

                “You don’t need to be,” Keith replies, his voice a low rumble from his chest that puts Lance at ease. “Everything’s okay.”

                Almost three years—three long years with Keith, and so many more to come, and Lance wants to keep him safe through all of them. Lance wants to love and cherish him through all of them. And if Keith’s arms around him are any indication, if the hand trailing up and down his back in slow strokes is any indication, Keith wants to do the same for him.

                They _will_ do the same, for each other.

                “I love you,” Lance says. “So much. I love you _so much_.”

                Keith shifts slightly, tilts his head down and kisses the top of Lance’s head, and then pulls him closer, arms tighter, and Lance closes his eyes and finally lets hot tears slide down his face; and this time the burn isn’t so bad. Really, it’s comforting in a way, and he breathes out a sigh at that, lets his muscles relax, lets himself revel in the feeling of Keith protecting him.

                And Keith listens to Lance’s breathing as it eases, until he’s asleep, and presses another light kiss on his head.

                “I’ve got you, and you’ve got me.” His voice is so quiet he barely hears himself, but the words are there, they’re out of him, a promise. “You’ve never gotta worry about that.” He lifts his eyes to the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. “There are a whole lot of constants in the universe, and one of them is me and you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "eileen u already did this for keith why did u do it for lance" because the idea wouldn't leave me aLONE, KAREN, LET ME LIVE
> 
> alright yeet 
> 
> stan deceit so natural!!!


	71. final choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith loves lance. so much that he'll write about it at 3 AM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know what this is but it wouldn't leave me alone until i wrote it down so there's that

**to starboy**  
years ago i had a rule that i wouldn’t wax poetic about boys,  
not after the boy that broke my heart,  
but then you came along and you have this little thing about poking me and prodding me and provoking me until i finally cave and act out in the ways i know i shouldn’t.  
so i’m here to wax poetic about you.  
yeah, yeah, it’s three AM and when you finally find this i’m probably passed out on top of you, but i had this...this thing and it wouldn’t leave me alone.  
i have this thing about love.  
and i know a lot of what it isn’t.  
love isn’t just saying “i love you,” which you probably know already and you’re probably going, “yeah, duh keith, where are you going with this?” but just bear with me.  
love isn’t those somersaults my stomach does when i look into your eyes or run my fingers through your hair, because let’s be honest  
there are plenty of guys out there whose eyes i could stare at for hours, or who would let me play with their hair until i fell asleep,  
(but it’s not like i want them, i promise)  
plenty of guys who will kiss me and tell me they love me,  
plenty of guys who will bring me coffee or give me a granola bar when i forget to eat,  
plenty of guys who would love to get into bed with me and praise my body and then kiss me till i can’t remember my name,  
but they’re not you.  
because not all of them would be willing to talk about their problems, or listen to me talk about mine.  
not all of them would have stayed when shit hit the fan.  
not all of them would have seen me cry and held me and consoled me.  
not all of them would come with me to counseling.  
not all of them would talk things out whenever things got hard.  
not all of them would be proud and over the moon to introduce me to friends and family.  
not all of them would have taken my hand and never let go the way you did.  
if love was just some intense feeling of desire or the way we freak out when we see someone hot because we don’t know if we wanna kiss them or be them,  
things wouldn’t last.  
but love isn’t that.  
love is a choice.  
often it’s not your first or second, maybe not third or fourth, for some people maybe it’s not even their millionth,  
but usually it’s their last and that’s what counts.  
love is the effort put in to make things work, mutual give and take, there through thick and thin.  
it’s all that stuff people write into their marriage vows.  
because that’s what they are—  
vows, perpetual promises.  
i may have liked people in the past, some more strongly than others,  
but they’re not you.  
because i chose you.  
i know in every piece of me that you are my final choice.  
and i don’t have to say “i can only hope i’m yours, too,” because i don’t even need that,  
because i know.  
i love you.  
-keith

                Well, Keith is right, to begin with: he’s wiped out on top of Lance with his head pillowed on his chest, arms wrapped around him. His hair falls into his face when Lance looks down at him with tears in his eyes, out cold and completely oblivious to the way Lance’s chest heaves, as he tries not to let out loud sobs that would surely wake him up.

                Instead, he sets the paper with the poem back down on the nightstand where Keith left it, and holds him closer. Tightens the arm he already has around his side and back and cradles the back of his head with his other hand, tangling his fingers in his hair.

                Lance sniffles as he leans back against his pillow and shuts his eyes, and tries to listen to the sound of Keith’s sleep-heavy breathing.

                There’s no reason for this. No big, important date coming up—their three-year anniversary is still a little under two months out, his promposal anniversary a few weeks out…but today _is_ the day they found out about their acceptances to Arus. Maybe Keith wrote for that—

                Or maybe he wrote for no reason at all, because that’s just like him.

                “Up at three AM writing _that_ ,” Lance whispers. “You don’t know what you do to me.” He swallows the lump that keeps trying to rise in his throat as more silent tears slide down the sides of his face. “And you’re right. You do know. Of course—” And then the lump gets in the way, and Lance has to pause, again. He shudders, sniffles again. “Of _course_ you’re my final choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might write a continuation of this one idk


	72. trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a rainy night with lance and keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my eyes keep closing i need sleep but i needed to post this first

                Several days later, on one of their final few nights at home before they’re due to head back up to campus, Keith and Lance cuddle underneath the awning of Lance’s back porch, rain falling around them as they snuggle closer together underneath a blanket now spattered at the edges with water. Keith’s arm is snug on Lance’s back where Lance’s rests around his shoulders, and Keith leans against him, inhales petrichor, inhales fabric softener, inhales Lance.

                Lance slowly lets his head fall against Keith’s, and the words of Keith’s note to him a few nights ago come back to him, a pattering in time with the rain. He hasn’t brought it up—hasn’t been _able to_ —verbally, anyway. Because he still hasn’t processed fully, still hasn’t been able to muster up a response he’s deemed worthy.

                But Keith knows, of course. He probably had an idea when he woke up and found Lance already wide awake, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes and boundless affection for the rest of the day—more so than usual, which is a feat in itself.

                The desire burns through Lance now, of all times: midnight, in the pouring rain, when they both should be asleep and will have to sneak upstairs, past Lance’s cat and potentially past his mother, if she’s still awake in the living room.

                “You’re my final choice, too.”

                It doesn’t slip out of Lance’s mouth as much as he lets it go, quiet, like if he speaks any louder the rain will hear him and come to an abrupt stop. But it keeps falling, tapping through the gutters and dripping in the puddles around the yard, while Keith and Lance each lift their heads, turn to look at each other.

                “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say for the last few days, but I just wanted you to know that first,” Lance goes on, while Keith’s mouth curves up softly. “You could probably tell, but you made me cry with that. I still don’t know why you even did it, but…” Lance chuckles, light and breathy. “That’s just you, isn’t it?”

                Keith raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I suppose.”

                Another gentle laugh, as Lance turns a little more toward Keith. “Hey, close your eyes for a sec.”

                Keith’s eyebrows knit in confusion, but he’s still wearing something like a smile, and he does as told; his eyelids flutter shut, and Lance reaches his free hand for Keith’s face. His fingers brush across the skin of Keith’s cheek as he reaches for a stray strand of hair, and Keith shivers, but doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t flinch away.

                Lance tucks the hair behind Keith’s ear, and then lets his hand linger, before it moves to cup his cheek, thumb running along his cheekbone. And Keith remains still, silent.

                “You’re right, about what love isn’t,” Lance says then. “Because—yeah, you’re beautiful. There’s no denying that. Not when you look the way you do right now.” He pauses for a moment, as heat rises in Keith’s cheeks, warms his hand. “And yeah, my heart still does weird things when we look at each other, or you get all flustered like this. But that’s not all of what’s got it going.”

                His hand slides further down, and he caresses Keith’s jawline, pad of his thumb resting on Keith’s lower lip. Then he drags his thumb down, achingly slowly, and still Keith stays statuelike, save for one shuddering exhale.

                Lance’s hand moves again, turns so he can cup the bottom of Keith’s chin, light, delicate, gentle. Then he leans in, leans in until his breath tickles Keith’s mouth, the skin around it.

                “You trust me. No matter what. And I think there’s love in that.”

                For a moment he stops speaking, basks in this in-between, in the look on Keith’s face as he waits, as his eyes remain shut, as he gives the reins of this whole thing wholly over to Lance.

                “So if you trust me, then—?”

                “Please.”

                Keith whispers it, and Lance obeys.

                At last his eyes close and lips meet Keith’s, and Keith moves in closer, swings his legs over and drapes them across Lance’s and wraps his other arm around Lance’s back. Lance pushes carefully on Keith’s chin until he tilts his head, and Lance deepens the kiss, while his other hand gets lost in Keith’s hair.

                At some point the blanket slips off of their shoulders and falls into a pool on the porch behind them, but they pay no mind. They kiss until they can’t—until they’re breathless with sore lips, swollen lips. When they part, Keith presses their foreheads together, even though words don’t come, and it’s the two of them, panting.

                That’s okay. Because that’s all Lance wants right now—Keith, close. Still within kissing distance, as Lance suddenly tilts his head up, pushes his bangs back, and dots his forehead with dozens of tiny kisses.

                “Trust, huh?” Keith remarks, finally.

                “Trust, unwavering faith, wholehearted devotion...take your pick,” Lance responds.

                “Those aren’t all totally synonymous,” Keith says.

                Lance scoffs, teasingly. “You still get my point. You don’t hesitate with me. You just go with it. ...And I can do the same with you. I know that if all else fails, I’ve got you.”

                “Mmm.” Keith closes his eyes, and collapses forward, and Lance catches him, brings him in for a hug as Keith settles his face into the crook of Lance’s neck. “My life’s in your hands, Starboy. And yeah, you’ve got me. Always.”

                They remain like that—Keith straddling Lance, in a tight hug, for some time, until their eyelids get heavier, and the wind gets wilder, and the rain comes down harder. Then they rise, take up their soiled blanket, and stumble back into the house with limbs draped over each other. They don’t make it to Lance’s room, don’t even make it to the stairs. They hit the living room and find the whole downstairs dark, and the couch empty, and crash there.

                Lance’s back hits the cushions first, and Keith comes down on top of him, just like most nights. Keith pillows his head on Lance’s chest, and Lance cards fingers through his hair until he hears snoring, until he knows Keith’s out, and doesn’t have the energy to stay awake for long after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright gn y'all


	73. the best defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first monday back, ft a heater that's not doing its damn job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our heater is all the way up where the fuck is the heat where is my tuition money going

                Keith doesn’t want to do Monday.

                He wakes up in his dorm for the first time in a little over a week, and the bed is warm—Lance’s arms around him are warm, Lance’s chest pressed to his back and lips against the back of his shoulder are warm, but he knows the moment he flings these blankets back he’s going to be hit with an arctic blast like no other, because for whatever reason the fourth floor of their building is fucking _freezing,_ and the maxed-out heat is nonexistent.

                Literally.

                Keith spent all of last night considering placing a work order to get it fixed, because he’s not keen on spending his life in the Arctic until the thaw kicks in late in the semester—too late, by then.

                With a miserable sigh, he reaches for his phone to shut off the alarm obnoxiously going off every two seconds, as he stretches, the arms Lance has wrapped around his waist tighten, and Lance moans.

                “Don’t _gooo_ ,” he mumbles.

                That, at least, draws a small smile on Keith’s face, as he sinks back into Lance’s grip, reaches a hand over his shoulder to run fingers through Lance’s hair.

                “We’ve gotta get up, Starboy,” Keith says back to him.

                Lance moans louder and pointedly buries his face further into the back of Keith’s shoulder. “I don’t _wannaaaaaa_.”

                “I know, but we’ve gotta. I’m not getting called out by our professor for _still having your heads in Spring Break, Mr. Kogane and Mr. McClain?_ ” Keith responds, and finally tries again to get up, Lance reluctantly releasing his hold.

                “Our first class is a three-hundred person lecture, dummy,” Lance mutters, and buries his face in his pillow, instead, because at least that still has Keith’s scent, and sort of makes up for the sudden lack of boy in his arms. “The professor’s not gonna notice or care if we’re late.”

                “But we could miss important information in whatever time we miss,” Keith tries to reason, smile growing wider as Lance makes a noise of endeared frustration and pulls the covers back over his head. Meanwhile, Keith starts changing clothes, and only pauses when he hears the sheets shift again.

                Lance’s head pokes back out, seemingly-irritated expression softening.

                “Hmm, look at you,” he murmurs.

                Keith looks down at himself, shirtless, and then flicks his eyes back up to Lance. “You like what you see or something?”

                “I don’t think _like_ is a strong enough word.”

                For a few moments, Keith lets Lance indulge in his staring, lets his gaze rove over his skin, until finally the cold gets to him and he shivers, sending Lance smirking.

                “Okay, it’s going away now,” Keith says, reaching for the shirt he laid out last night on the other bed. “I’m freezing.”

                “Y’know, if you got back in bed—”

                Keith cuts Lance off by flinging another shirt and nailing him directly in the face. Lance doesn’t yelp, doesn’t flinch, but merely takes the shirt off his head and tries for a glare. Keith pointedly ignores it and continues on changing, as the mattress crunches and Lance finally sits up and swears as the blankets slip down to his waist.

                “Holy _shit_ ,” he whispers. “Why is it so cold in here?! Is our heater even on?!”

                “Well,” Keith says, and for dramatic effect, leans over the small dresser pulling double-duty as a night stand, bracing one hand on their mini fridge, “it’s on the second highest setting, and—” He reaches a hand over and places it flat against the vent, “—there’s pretty much nothing coming out. I can feel a faint warmth, but that’s about it.” He meets Lance’s eyes. “Should I have put in for a work order, or…?”

                “That takes time and scheduling, no thanks,” Lance replies, and rises from the bed, snakes arms back around Keith’s waist. “I think it just means we’ve gotta use our resources, y’know?”

                “You’re impossible,” Keith says, and leans in, presses a light kiss to Lance’s mouth and then pulls back. “Come on, we need to get breakfast, _get ready_.”

                “Hmm,” Lance says thoughtfully, tipping his head back and looking at the ceiling, “I dunno, I think I might need one more of those. A longer one.”

                Keith sighs, earning a laugh from Lance as he tilts his head and closes the distance. Keith winds his arms around Lance’s neck and presses in close, knowing full well he’s enabling Lance; in this moment, he chooses not to care. Because Lance has a point—he’s definitely the best defense against the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my fingers are freezing
> 
> the temperatures back home were so nice wHY IS IT SO COLD UP HERE
> 
> anyway
> 
> my fix-it fic finally updated saturday night!! chapter 7 of [STEALING OUR OWN PLACE IN THE SUN](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441), aka [SEASON 5, EPISODE 1: DARK SUNRISE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/43099283%22), went live!!!
> 
> if you're not reading [SOOPITS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900732/chapters/37059441), perhaps consider!! i rewrite the whole show after season 3 and fix. everything. season 4 is online in full, and includes a musical!! hunk's getting an arc!!! lance has an arc centered on himself and not on romance!! keith doesn't leave!!!! the clone arc is more satisfying!! pidge is not The Star Of The Whole Show, Lauren's Favorite Asshole Who Can Do No Wrong!!! allura and adam get individual arcs and don't fucking die!!!
> 
> anyway there's my promo yeet see ya later


	74. anxiety?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith's anxiety flares up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was it yesterday?? i think it was yesterday, like tuesday
> 
> i was so fucking OUT OF IT everything was pissing me off i wanted to d*e and i felt like i was gonna pass out (read: physically wipe out, NOT fall asleep) any second 
> 
> it was my period but
> 
> it was too late my brain had already shouted "KLANCE IT" at me so i fuckign did

**starlight <3  
**i need space today.

                The text isn’t...common, but it’s not unusual, not enough to be alarming. And to be honest, Lance kind of got the feeling it was coming. An abnormally tired Keith usually means something else is on the way.

 _to_ **starlight <3  
**anxiety?

 **starlight <3  
**…

 **starlight <3  
**yeah

 _to_ **starlight <3**  
u got it, i’ll see u later <33

                He doesn’t get a response, but didn’t really expect one.

                He sets his phone back down on the table and finishes off the last of his lunch, feet kicked up on the chair on his right. When he’s done and on his way out, he makes another stop at the dessert bar and swipes one of the brownies, wraps it up in one of the squares of wax paper left out, and then swings by the dorm before he heads back out to his next class.

                The dorm’s empty when he gets there, which is good, because this means Keith hasn’t made it back yet, and Lance can get away with this.

                He leaves the brownie on Keith’s desk and steals a post-it note from the pad in the corner of his desk, and takes a pen from his wire pen holder and doodles a heart, with “-L” written underneath. He leaves it sticking out from under the brownie and then ducks out of the room, jogs down the stairs before Keith can come back and catch him.

                Later on, in the middle of another lecture, Lance gets a Snapchat from Keith, and his chest warms and a smile tugs up the ends of a mouth previously frowning at the mountain of information on the PowerPoint he’s being subjected to. The photo’s simple, of the brownie and note, and Keith’s only addition to the Snap is a blue heart sticker.

                It’s enough to keep Lance going, beyond sunset, beyond his late dinner, all the way back into the dorm by 8. When he walks in he finds Keith bent over his desk, headphones in and clearly occupied, and unlike usual, doesn’t stop to hug him from behind, doesn’t try to kiss him—he drops his backpack on his chair and begins swapping out books and notebooks, grabs his laptop charger. He’ll go to the Student Union and knock out some homework there, give Keith the quiet he—

                There’s a small noise as a body suddenly melts into Lance’s back.

                He glances down, and finds Keith’s arms around his waist, feels the press of Keith’s face into the back and side of his neck. He turns slightly, to try and get even a glimpse of his fiancé, but only gets a tuft of black hair in return.

                “Hi,” he whispers.

                “Hey,” Keith murmurs back.

                “Thought you wanted space,” Lance says then.

                Keith’s shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Maybe. Maybe I wanted this, though.”

                “Okay.” Lance hesitates a moment, listens to the sounds coming from Keith, tries to get a feel for him from behind. His breathing sounds normal, it doesn’t seem like he’s shaking… “Can I touch you, then?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Okay.”

                Lance takes Keith’s wrists and slowly unwraps his arms from around him, and then turns until they’re face-to-face. Then he brings Keith back in for a proper hug. Keith slumps forward into this one, and Lance...doesn’t really see all Keith’s walls in pieces around them. More so, he sees them bending back, away from them, righting themselves where they’d been closing in before.

                “You doin’ better than you were this morning?” Lance asks, rubbing a hand up and down Keith’s spine.

                “Yeah,” Keith replies with a content-sounding sigh, as he buries his face back into Lance’s neck. “Things are...calming down, I guess. Knocked out some work. Looked over my course options again. Organized my desk.”

                “That’s good, I’m glad.” Lance leans his head against Keith’s, continues gently tracing his fingers along his back, allows his own breathing to relax and listens as Keith syncs up with him.

                And it’s nice. Lance relaxes with Keith in his arms, and Keith’s arms around him.

                For years he believed it impossible that Keith could be any kind of good hugger, with his standoffish demeanor and general aversion to being touched that Lance couldn’t wrap his head around. Then he learned; then he _understood_. And then he got to touch, and then he got to touch unabashedly, unrestrained, and got to _be touched_ in the same way. Because Keith hugs how he loves: like he doesn’t want to let go.

                And Lance doesn’t really want him to, so that’s how they stand for the next fifteen minutes: holding each other, arms casually readjusting, tightening, breathing and drinking in the silence. It occurs to Lance that they’ve never hugged this long—a true hug, at least. Because they’ve cuddled for hours, spent night after night tangled up in each other, but never a straight-up hug.

                _We need to do this more often,_ Lance thinks, closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna end it somewhere else but this was just. really soft
> 
> i want a nice long hug


	75. blessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> darlin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on [this short twitter thread](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener/status/1109314626863489024)

                It takes three years of being together and about a year and a half of that spending nearly every night in the same bed for it to happen. The first time it happens is also almost the last time it happens, because when it does, Lance nearly goes into cardiac arrest and dies right there.

                The day begins like any other: one of them waking up to the alarm going off next to their ears. Keith grunts and reaches for it, and then leans back into Lance once he’s shut it off. Instead of pressing his back into Lance’s chest, though—the way they slept last night, and most nights, (because sometimes Lance still internally weeps when he remembers Keith’s preference to be the little spoon). Instead, he rolls over so he’s facing Lance, bleary-eyed and bedheaded.

                “G’morning,” Lance greets with a soft smile, and pushes Keith’s bangs back with a caress of his forehead.

                Nothing in his life could have ever prepared him for the next words out of Keith’s mouth, no amount of flirting or having pet names flung in his direction, no warning no matter how far in advance, because that’s just how it is with Keith: trial by fire.

                “G’mornin’ darlin’,” Keith mumbles back to him, lips pulling up lazily at their ends and flashing the tiniest white sliver of teeth, eyes half-lidded. Then they’re closing again, and he’s cupping Lance’s cheek and leaning in while Lance’s brain _shrieks_ and drowns everything else out, and his heart tries busting out of his chest and heat sears his face and—

                _Oh dear God, he_ does _have a Southern drawl._

                He doesn’t think he’s ever heard it before now, only realizes _now_ that he’s absolutely _fucked_ but he’s _blessed_ because that Southern drawl is _his_ , will only ever _be his_ , will only ever try to put _him_ into cardiac arrest—

                “ _HolyshitI’minlovewithyou_ ,” Lance whispers in one breath in those seconds right before he wraps his arm around the back of Keith’s head and pulls him all the way in, brings their lips together in something harder than their usual for the mornings. Keith doesn’t really protest, just makes a surprised noise and keeps going with it, thumb stroking back and forth over Lance’s cheekbone while his other fingers tangle in his hair.

                _Darlin’, darlin’, darlin’._ It plays on repeat in Lance’s head as giddiness washes over him, at this new side of Keith that’s only taken _this long_ to uncover, and he wonders what other parts of him are still hidden, what else is left to be revealed, when and where and how Lance will discover those things, and a lump builds in his throat and chest seizes when he realizes how lucky he is, that he’s been granted the privilege of being the only one with the ability to find them in the first place.

                _So blessed._ Lance opens his eyes slightly, as their kiss goes on, tiny breaks for air here and there before they’re pulling each other back in. Keith’s cheeks practically glow pink as his eyelashes brush against them.

                _So fucking blessed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they
> 
> -stan dsn  
> -stan soopits


	76. april fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith has something to tell lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "eileen did u make keith do that shitty thing where people pretend to break up with their s/o on april fools day as a prank??? i thought u were better than that" i am better than that, thanks
> 
> just trust me

                The last thing Keith wants to hear on a Monday morning is his alarm going off, because he knows it’s coming and dreads it every single time. He winces when it does today, and reaches and swipes his phone from his night table.

                _April 1st._ Approximately one month and one week left of school before he’s officially done with his freshman year of college, before he and Lance have officially survived and made it another year as a couple.

                Keith glances over his shoulder, as much as he can, at Lance, whose arm is still sort of draped over his waist, whose face _had_ been pressed up against the back of his neck, buried in his hair, up until a few seconds ago.

                “Hey,” Keith whispers, and turns all the way over so he’s facing Lance fully, “wake up, I’ve got something to tell you.” He reaches his hand out and cups Lance’s cheek, runs a thumb over his freckles as Lance opens his eyes and squints.

                Then his expression softens.

                Keith’s heart stutters as Lance reaches a hand of his own out and pushes some of Keith’s bangs out of his face so he has a clearer view of his eyes, bright this morning with a spark that’s not usually there until after his first cup of coffee.

                “Yeah?” Lance murmurs, voice still hoarse with sleep it hasn’t shaken off.

                Keith leans in the way he does every morning and presses his lips against Lance’s. He feels Lance’s mouth curl up as they kiss, as Lance’s hand moves to the back of his head and he tangles his fingers in Keith’s hair.

                This is Keith’s favorite way to start the morning— _has been_ , since the first time they did it in high school, that first time Keith woke up in Lance’s arms, safe and warm and thinking _I could get used to this_ , used to waking up to Lance’s bedhead and morning breath and the security of the way he held Keith, like it was too dangerous to let him go.

                “I like you,” Keith eloquently sums it up when their mouths part, drawing back just slightly to take in the confused knitting of Lance’s eyebrows, the way his lips morph into a half-smile, half-frown, everything still a certain level of bleary.

                “Well gee,” he says, “I’d hope so. We are engaged, y’know.”

                _Engaged._ A giddy laugh bubbles out of Keith as he presses his forehead against Lance’s, and lets his nose bump into his cheek, while Lance cards fingers through his hair with a few giggles of his own.

                _Engaged,_ Keith’s mind repeats again. _I’m engaged to Lance McClain._

                He gets to marry the boy in front of him. Gets to spend the rest of his life with him, no matter how long or short of a time that may be.

                “April Fools,” Keith says. Lance’s hand suddenly stills, and he opens his mouth to question what the hell he means by _April Fools_ if the statement preceding it was _I like you_ when Keith closes the distance between them again. It’s briefer, this time, and he’s full-on grinning when he pulls back. “I _love_ you.”

                He watches the _oh, oh wait, that’s cute, what the fuck_ expression take over the confusion and mild shock on Lance’s face.

                “Little shit,” he finally breathes out, after a moment, and drags Keith in for a crushing hug at an angle that’s kind of awkward, Keith won’t lie, but it’s Lance, so it’s okay. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway this was based on a [tweet](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener/status/1112384711320653826)
> 
> see ya later


	77. definitely not okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes being out in the open is terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warning for a panic/anxiety attack, implications of a school shooting.**

            One moment he is fine, and the next, he’s not.

            One moment Keith is sitting on the couch next to Lance in one of the lounges in the Student Union, scrolling through his phone while Lance watches whatever TV show’s on the channel, and the next, his chest tightens and breathing shallows and eyes sting, and all he thinks is _I_ _’m going to die._

            _I_ _’m going to_ _die._

_I_ _’m going to die._

            _I_ _’m going to die._

            He goes completely still, rigid, eyes unfocusing on some part of the floor while he goes over the possible escape routes from this room—pieces of furniture to hide behind—quickest exit from the building and nearest bathroom if he’s desperate to hole himself up and hopefully not be found. Nausea rolls over him and for a moment he thinks his dinner’s going to come back up all over the carpet, but he’s dizzy and can’t leave without fear of falling over—without fear of drawing attention— _if we were to be attacked right now—_

            _Stopitstopitstopitstopityou_ _’reokaystopityou’refineyou’reokayyou’reokayyou’reokay._

            He is in public, surrounded by students, wide open, _definitelynotokay_ —

            _Breathebreathebreathe breathe breathe breathe, breathe, breathe. Breathe._

_Go to the bathroom. Collect yourself._

            He can _see_ the bathroom from where he sits, just across the hall, and slowly extricates himself from underneath Lance’s arm, heart hammering.

            “I’ll be right back,” he mutters before Lance can ask, and hopes Lance just assumes he’s taking an ordinary trip to the restroom. And to his relief, it works—Lance just says _alright_ and watches him go, and Keith tries not to let his shoulders bunch up too much or his strides be too quick or his legs visibly wobble as he gets up and leaves.

            _One foot in front of the other._

            He jams his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking, too, and hopes it just looks like he’s cold and taking a casual walk to relieve himself, and makes it to the tiny restroom squished in behind the elevator. The room’s totally empty when he enters, and he’s allowed to brace his hands on the counter where the sinks are, close his eyes, and _breathe._

            The thumping music and shouting of late night can’t reach him here, beyond the heavy door. He’s safe here, he’s okay, _you_ _’re safe period._

            _In_ _…one, two, three, four…hold, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven…out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._ If his heart rate goes normal, he breathes normally, if he breathes normally, he’s okay—

            The bathroom door squeaks and Keith whips around, only to be met with a startled guy who raises their eyebrow and then continues on their way, while Keith ducks out and back into the little hallway right outside the restroom, the one that leads back out to the Union itself. From here, he spies Lance, still chilling out on the couch, looking completely different from Keith—relaxed and at ease, and _why can_ _’t that be me_ —

            _Walk._

            Keith’s legs carry him back into the Union before anyone can catch him, wide-eyed and lingering just outside the bathroom door. He makes himself walk up the two small steps and into the lounge, makes himself sit back down on the couch where he left his bag, where Lance still sits. He presses in a little bit closer, because Lance is here—Lance is here and he’s—

            “Hey.” Lance’s voice is a whisper, and his eyes don’t leave the TV. Keith watches him carefully, knot around his lungs pulling tighter. “Can I touch you?”

            Keith can’t find his voice. He nods, and Lance’s arm comes back down around his shoulders, a little tighter than before as he draws Keith in closer to him and gently pushes Keith’s head down, until it’s on his shoulder.

            “Do you need to go back to the dorm?”

            He poses the question as casually as if he were asking Keith if he wants to go get coffee, expression still impassive and glued to the TV screen. Keith’s eyes burn again, for a different reason, as he slowly shakes his head as much as he can manage and deflates, letting out another breath.

            _In, one, two, three, four_ _…_

            “You sure?” Lance’s other hand finds its way to the one Keith has resting on his thigh, and he weakly laces their fingers from behind.

            _Hold, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven_ _…_

            “Yeah.”

            _Out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight_ _…_

            Lance nods. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

            When they get back to their dorm later, Keith will undoubtedly have to explain himself, but for now, Lance isn’t pushing or asking questions, just holding Keith closer to him and humming so lowly Keith can only feel the vibrations coming from Lance’s chest and throat. And it’s enough—enough to keep him relaxed, from panicking again.

            _Okay. You_ _’re okay._

_You have Lance._

            And Lance has his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya kids so if ur out in the middle of campus surrounded by people!!! don't read tumblr posts and articles about school shootings!!!!! 
> 
> anyway
> 
> see ya later


	78. why is he only wearing one shoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a dumbass running through the quad in a downpour with only one shoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> college kids are children in adult bodies don't ever let anyone tell you we have it together
> 
> anyway this is based on a [tweet](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener/status/1115740596189171712), everyone say "thank you [inès](https://twitter.com/KeithyyBoi/status/1115752770747994112)" for her response to my tweet which prompted me to write this

            The first thought that crosses Keith’s mind is _what a dumbass._

            The second—a rather quick second, as he catches sight of a familiar jacket and brown skin and rain-soaked hair—is _oh shit, wait, that_ _’s_ my _dumbass._

            And Keith has plenty of questions for his dumbass, like why he didn’t take an umbrella to class this morning when he knew it would start raining before he got back, why he didn’t just wait out the storm in the dining hall, like why he’s gotta shout when he’s sprinting, but the most pressing of them all is why, exactly, he’s only wearing one shoe, and carrying the other.

            Yes.

            Wearing one shoe, carrying the other, leaving an exposed sock to squelch through rainwater and mud in the midst of the downpour.

            He disappears out of Keith’s line of sight from where he sits, perched on the edge of the bed, people-watching as usual. And instead of making one more remark in his head and then moving on to someone else, Keith sighs and swings his legs over the side of the bed, shuffles over to the closet, and starts prepping towels—he lays one down behind their door and weighs it down with a chair so it doesn’t bunch up when the door opens, and then grabs another, and holds it in his hands as he sits down at his own chair.

            It only takes another two minutes for Keith to hear the elevator chime as the door squeals open, and he listens to the sounds of feet squeaking and squishing against the floor. Keith doesn’t stand, not even as the door to their dorm opens, and there’s Lance, in the doorway, absolutely drenched.

            “Get changed,” Keith orders from where he sits, as Lance lets his bag drop and shoe loudly to the towel on the ground.

            Momentarily, Lance pauses to pout at him. “What? No greeting hug? No kiss? I work my butt off for you and _this is the thanks I get_ —”

            “The day I become a housewife is the day you take me out,” Keith counters.

            Lance quirks a brow. “On a date or with a sniper rifle?”

            Keith shrugs. “Yes.”

            “Not allowed to die on me, heathen,” Lance retorts sharply, as soon as he gets his answer, and begins shucking off his jacket, and then his shirt, while at the same time kicking off his one remaining shoe. Then he peels off his socks, while Keith finally rises from his chair with the towel. He opens the towel all the way and spreads his arms out, and Lance collapses forward into him, while Keith wraps him into the towel and a hug.

            Lance buries his nose into the slope of Keith’s neck and melts into his grip.

            “Mmm, you’re warm,” he mutters, closing his eyes, as Keith slowly eases back toward the chair until he’s sitting. Lance straddles his lap, and Keith holds him close, firm against his chest. His pants aren’t soaked the way the rest of him is, so Keith supposes it’s okay, as he tilts back.

            At that, Lance raises his head in time for Keith to lean back in, reach up one hand to push his sopping bangs aside, and plant a kiss on his forehead. Then he drags Lance back in, let his head reclaim its position on Keith’s shoulder.

            When the breeze drifts in from the window, Lance shivers, and Keith holds him tighter. He should be getting changed, should at least be putting a shirt back on, or some fresh socks to warm his feet, because every survival guide ever has explained that you lose the most heat through the toes and head—but Keith doesn’t want to let him go, and Lance doesn’t seem particularly inclined to slip out of his arms any time soon.

            “Do I wanna know how you lost your shoe and had to run around the quad in a sock, or…?” Keith whispers, and Lance rockets back, grabs Keith by the shoulders to steady himself.

            “You _saw that?!_ ”

            Keith shrugs. “Maybe I people-watch sometimes.”

            Lance sighs and allows their foreheads to fall together. “My reputation is ruined—”

            “The whole quad saw you—!”

            “My fiancé saw me looking like a dumbass.”

            “That’s not news to me,” Keith retorts, and Lance gasps, scandalized, while he continues on, “and I’m glad to know we had the same thought, because my first thought was indeed _what a dumbass,_ and then _that_ _’s my dumbass_.”

            Lance pouts; Keith laughs at him, tilts his head up, touches his lips softly to Lance’s and then draws back.

            “Well,” Lance huffs, “if I _have_ to be a dumbass…at least I get to be _your_ dumbass. And now, about my shoe…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're in love this was garbage byeeeeee


	79. into the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith and lance get the not-so-brilliant idea to venture into the woods with zero planning ahead of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clare and i went to the woods today and only regretted it on the way home
> 
> clare, as we walk to the student union for dinner: i got so many drawing ideas out in the woods  
> me: i got a bunch of writing ideas  
> clare: ...guys like us?  
> me: yeahhh  
> clare: y'know, i had a feeling
> 
> anyway we're both dead i'm posting from beyond the grave

            “I’m calling your _survival skills_ into question.”

            “You are _just as much at fault_.”

            The winding road back to campus from the path they hiked through the woods is all uphill, has been for the last ten minutes. Keith and Lance both wheeze in the heat they’re not accustomed to after months of frigid temperatures. Lance has surrendered his jacket to his waist, loosely tied in a way that has it slipping every five minutes, while Keith carries his on one arm, and constantly switches between arms as they grow sweaty.

            “How did we both manage to forget fucking _water_?” Keith adds on.

            “I don’t—” Lance pauses to cough and shoot a glare in Keith’s direction, “ _know_ , but you somehow remembered you fucking _switchblade and camera_.”

            “That _you_ reminded me of!”

            Keith talks loudly, but his words lack punch as he finally grabs Lance’s arm to stop them, and leans against the guard rail separating the road from a quick, short drop into a river. If Keith were to suddenly give completely out right now and tumble over the rail…well, he’d survive the fall. Probably. Barring a sharp hit to his head on one of the several rocks crowding the way, some certainly buried underneath leaves left over from autumn.

            “Alright, fine,” Lance says, voice a little more even, after a few moments of deep breathing. “We’re both dumbasses. Are you happy?”

            “Quite,” Keith manages, and reaches again for Lance’s hand. He fumbles the first few times, fingers grazing his skin before Lance reaches back and takes his hand, and it—it’s comforting. And steadying. Keith lets himself slump forward as his heartbeat takes over him, pounds in the middle of his forehead like a war drum that’ll certainly leave a headache behind.

            “You’re sweaty,” Lance breathes out, and leans against the guard rail next to him.

            Keith pushes his bangs back and gives Lance a pointed look. “So are you.”

            “And your mullet _really_ isn’t doing you any favors right now,” Lance adds, and uses his free hand to run fingers through the hair stuck with sweat to the back of Keith’s neck. “Let me tie this up for you. C’mere.”

            Keith doesn’t bother putting up a fight, and doesn’t bother pointing out that he’s more than capable of tying up his not-really-a-mullet-anymore-but-if-that’s-what-Lance-wants-to-call-it-then-sure. He leans over, and Lance momentarily lets go of his hand and starts pulling his hair back and slightly up.

            Lance has taken to wearing a hair tie on his wrist, to play with when he needs to and to tie up Keith’s hair whenever Keith forgets a hair tie. Keith smiles at that thought and closes his eyes and hums as Lance tangles his fingers in Keith’s hair, trying to smooth out what bumps he can before he begins tying.

            “How much time have we got till we’re back to the dorm?” Lance asks.

            Keith sighs, spell broken, and slides his phone out of his pocket, re-enters the directions from their location back to their dorm at the opposite end of campus, and winces when 27 _minutes_ greets him on his phone screen.

            “Still about a half hour,” he answers.

            “We’re going to die,” Lance declares, as he gives the hair tie one last snap and takes Keith’s hand again.

            By now, though, the pounding in their hearts has slowed slightly, though their trek is still going to be hell until they reach the top of the hill. At the very least, their hands in each others’ stop the swinging, stop Keith’s hands from feeling like leaden weights at the end of his arms, threatening to send him careening in either direction at any moment.

            “If I die,” Lance gasps out, after another five minutes of silence punctuated by heavy breathing, “just bury me in the river out here.”

            “Nope, stop that,” Keith mutters. “That sounds like that fuckin’…the song—”

            “Shit.”

            “Yeah, _shit._ Not allowed to die on me before we get married and raise a family together.”

            They alternate between taking the lead, pulling the other along when they lag behind, periodically taking stops on rocks that look big enough to sit on, once they make sure the secluded, forested road they’re traveling along is void of any _Private Property_ signs, three of which they’ve encountered on the way back. And between dodging sketchy people walking along the road, the cars that tear through with little to no regard for pedestrians, and the constant vigilance for a stray animal, Keith is fucking _exhausted,_ and torn between being careful holding Lance’s hand and simply not giving a shit, the way he’s able to not give a shit back home and on campus.

            “I want cuddles to compensate for your poor judgment on this, then,” Lance decides. “If I can’t die then I’m just going to sweat all over you.”

            “Fine,” Keith concedes. “But we’re sweating on your bed.”

            “We’re sweating on the fucking _floor,_ do I look like I have the energy to climb up on my bed?”

            “Fair enough.”

            Ten more minutes, and in the distance, Keith can see the tallest hill on campus peeking through the trees, can see the road that leads to the agriculture buildings. He raises a weak arm and flaps his hand, makes a weak noise that Lance correctly interprets. Lance looks up and the same sort of relief Keith imagines a sea captain would have upon seeing land after months of nothing but water.

            “ _Civilization!_ ” Lance shouts, throwing both arms up, taking Keith’s one arm along with him.

            “We’re so close,” Keith pants. “Ten more minutes…ten more…”

            Well, a little more than that—exactly thirteen minutes later, Keith and Lance open the door to their dorm and promptly collapse on the shag rug in the center of the room, groaning in equal measures agony and utter relief.

            “Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Lance moans into the floor, as a cool breeze blows through their open window. “Never again. Never, _ever_ again.”

            “Yes again,” Keith counters, and turns his head to the side to look at Lance, revels in the feeling of Lance’s arm draped over his back. “Just with better planning. And water. And lighter clothes.”

            “ _Fine_.”

            They fall silent after that, as their breathing finally evens out, finally slows all the way to normal. Keith closes his eyes and lets himself rest, although his headache is a constant reminder that they need to get back up and get dinner, at some point. But for now, he’s content to snuggle closer to Lance, as Lance pulls him all the way in, until Keith’s face is resting in the crook of his neck.

            “Oh my God, it’s even sweatier here,” Keith grumbles teasingly, and Lance pointedly pulls him closer, smushes Keith’s face in until Keith ceases protesting.

            Because Lance may be sweaty, but he’s steady, safe, and Keith has nowhere else he’d rather be.

            “I love you,” he mutters. “Thanks for putting up with my bullshit anyway.”

            “It’s less _putting up with_ and more _outright choosing it_ ,” Lance replies. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a headache but it's laundry night REST IN PIECES I GUESS


	80. four more weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith reminisces. and flirts. because why not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to post this last night but then i. wiped out before i could do any kind of editing
> 
> yes contrary to popular belief _sometimes_ i edit
> 
> anyway

            The weather reminds Keith of early summer.

            It’s misting, as he and Lance walk hand-in-hand from the dining hall back to their dorm, fingers interwoven, Lance tracing patterns on the knuckle of Keith’s thumb with his thumb. Gray clouds, dark, heavy with rain, stretch above campus in every direction, and humidity clings to Keith and Lance like a second skin. Petrichor hangs in warm air, fills Keith’s nose and lungs, and takes him back to the days when school is newly out for the summer, when party season’s just begun. It takes him back to bonfires and late-night yelling and dark dives into the pool, takes him back to the ocean crashing along a deserted shoreline and dances in the sand, to fairy lights strung up on decks and ice cream and _Lance._

            Lance’s season.

            _Four more weeks_ , Keith reminds himself. Three weeks of classes and a week—even less, really, because he’s free Thursday of exam week—before he’s home. Before he’s home and can sprawl out in his bed or Lance’s and cuddle with his fiancé more comfortably. Before he’s home and can return to his dog and cat and Shiro’s cat and Lance’s cat. Before he’s home and can return to Mrs. McClain’s warm hugs and home cooking, and his own mother’s awkward but affectionate hugs, hugs that strive to make up for sixteen years lost.

            _Almost home._

            Despite the hell it puts him through sometimes, Keith can’t say he hates college. He enjoys it, really—a home away from home where he’s able to make his own decisions, and come back to a space that’s just for him and Lance; come back to a home without Shiro or his mom questioning everything about his day, as much as he loves them.

            But he misses home-home. Misses his bed in a house not filled with people screaming at three in the morning on a week night for whatever ungodly reason, with people who don’t know how to walk in the dining hall and on sidewalks and in the hallways of the academic buildings. Home-home, where he knows his neighbors and his neighbors know him, where the rest of his high school friends will reunite once their breaks have started, where he can finally see the underclassmen still trapped in their last couple years of high school.

            “You alright there, babe?” Lance asks, quirking an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

            “Multiple somethings,” Keith corrects, and then flashes a gentle smile in his direction. “You’re one of them.”

            Keith takes pleasure, in this sort of thing: catching Lance off-guard. His stomach twists pleasantly as Lance’s face flushes scarlet, as they enter their residence hall. He watches in amusement as Lance fumbles for his student ID card to swipe them into the building. Twice, he nearly drops it, and Keith just laughs at him, bats his hand aside, and swipes them in himself.

            “Asshole,” Lance mutters with a note of affection.

            Keith just squeezes his hand tighter and slides his ID back into his pocket as they head for the elevator. “That’s me.”

            Lance rolls his eyes and smiles back at him, squeezes his hand back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway
> 
> stan STEALING OUR OWN PLACE IN THE SUN and DECEIT SO NATURAL if u want  
> a) a fix-it fic written out of spite  
> b) a fix-it fic before we knew we needed one


	81. his favorite keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith's many personas, and lance's love of a particular one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a hot minute, they're cuddling again

            There are a great many sides to Keith, and Lance has come to learn what he believes is all of them over the years. There’s Angry Keith, Emo Keith (which is more of a character Keith sometimes plays than an actual facet of himself), Sad Keith (who goes hand-in-hand with Quiet Keith, and by extension, is one of the scariest Keiths), Happy Keith, Flirty Keith, and Sleepy Keith, just to name a few.

            Sleepy Keith is one of Lance’s favorites.

            He loves every side of his fiancé, truly, he does—every part of him, the good, the bad, and the ugly (although rarely does _ugly_ ever apply to any aspect of Keith)—but something about Sleepy Keith is exceptionally good. Maybe it’s the sense that Lance has an extra important duty when it comes down to Sleepy Keith, and that’s keeping him safe, guarding him from the rest of the world.

            Lance knows, _knows_ that Sleepy Keith’s need to be guarded stems from the fact that his walls are all down—not destroyed, not in pieces around him, but more like they’re on a timer, and they disappear for a few hours when Keith’s exhaustion sets in, and he doesn’t have the energy left to defend himself. It’s when he needs the world to be quiet and needs solitude and needs something (or some _one_ ) to keep him warm. A safe place where he knows he’s safe, where he knows he’ll be cared for.

            That place usually translates to Lance’s arms.

            Warmth? Check. Quiet? Lance isn’t quiet by nature, but he has no issue being so when the situation calls for it, so check. Solitude? Just the two of them, because Keith trusts Lance, is one of a select few people he can be with when he wants to be alone—check.

            It’s the place Keith insists on staking his claim to at a random point in the evening. The clock on the microwave reads 11:17 PM when Keith shuts his laptop, pushes up and out of his chair, and then pulls himself onto Lance’s bed and collapses forward into his lap, face making a home in the slope of Lance’s neck.

            “Hey babe,” Lance greets, one hand automatically finding its way to the back of Keith’s head, the other resting snugly at the small of Keith’s back. “Everything okay?”

            It’s an important question to ask, because sometimes Sad Keith disguises himself as Sleepy Keith, or eggs Sleepy Keith on, or sometimes they’re one and the same. As much can be said for Stressed Keith and Scared Keith, because their common trait is a need for comfort, and Lance has plenty of that to offer, always available, always willing to give it.

            “Yeah,” Keith mumbles somewhere into Lance’s neck. “Just tired.”

            Well, any chance Lance has of finishing his homework tonight is gone, but with two weeks left in the semester before finals, his homework load has slowed down, thinned out to practically nothing. He can afford to call it a night, as he carefully leans back until he’s reclining against a pillow, and Keith’s basically straddling him, wiped out against his chest.

            “Are those my pajama pants?” Lance asks, flicking eyes down to the navy blue pajama bottoms covered in sharks.

            “Mmm. Yeah.”

            “And you didn’t bother wearing the matching shirt if you were going to take them?”

            “Still your shirt…just doesn’t match.”

            Because Lance has proper pajamas, nice and neat sets, and Keith is a heathen who throws on pants and a t-shirt at random and calls it a night.

            Regardless that they don’t match, and regardless that Lance will either have to break up another set or find an excuse to wear the shark shirt, or only wash half of his set all by its lonesome, he can’t say he’s very mad about it, because Keith looks cute in loose clothes, when normally he only ever wears tight clothes (not that Lance takes issue with _that_ , exactly), and even cuter when they’re Lance’s.

            “I’m going to have to steal your clothes in retaliation now, I hope you know that,” Lance says, and Keith rumbles with quiet, easy laughter.

            “You look good in them, I don’t see the problem there.” He brings a hand up to the back of Lance’s head and starts twisting strands of his hair around his fingers before he lets it drop again, goes completely limp, doll-like.

            “Bedtime?” Lance asks.

            “Yeah.”

            “Then one of us has to get up and turn off the light.”

            There’s a groan from Keith, as he sits up and climbs off the bed, careful not to accidentally knee Lance in the gut or groin, or smash his hand into his windpipe. He pads over to the light and flips it off, while Lance scoots over until he’s nearly up against the wall, leaving a decent-sized space for Keith to crawl back into. And when Keith does, he presses his face back into Lance’s collarbone while Lance drapes an arm over him, uses the other to cradle the back of Keith’s head and run gentle fingers through his hair, scratch at his scalp.

            “G’night,” Keith mumbles.

            “G’night, Starlight,” Lance whispers back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm probably not gonna update this much if at all after may and this is where continuous updates of the squad up verse are gonna end probably just btw
> 
> i don't shut up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener) tho :P


	82. 3 years.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's may 4th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to say on the last(???) chapter that it wasn't the. final chapter. i'm just saying that like...after this month i'm probably never touching this series again
> 
> i have at least one more chapter in mind after this one but. hh.

                When the clock ticks over from 11:59 PM on May 3rd to midnight on May 4th, Keith and Lance are cozied up against each other, underneath a blanket, sitting on Lance’s bed, with a laptop out in front of them, and Hunk and Shay only recently departed from the room. The open window lets in cool but humid air and the sound of pouring rain and the scent of petrichor.

                When Keith’s eyes land on the clock on the microwave, the video in front of him and Lance is practically forgotten.

                “Hey,” he whispers, and nudges Lance. “Look what time it is.”

                Lance flicks his eyes over, then, too. “Oh, nice. May 4th.” Then he looks at Keith, smiles softly, tucks a lock of hair behind Keith’s ear. “Happy Star Wars Day, babe. May the 4th be with you.”

                Keith snorts. “May the 4th be with you, too,” he says. “Anything you wanna add to that?”

                Lance locks gazes with Keith and stares, quizzical, while Keith keeps his face blank, eyebrows drawn up slightly as he waits. And Lance almost declares that _nope, nothing else I wanna add to that,_ but he can’t, because Keith’s look of patience is too damn _cute_ and Lance would rather not lose that to a sudden and disappointed frown. So he lets his face break out into another smile, and he laughs quietly. Leans in, tilts his head, cups the back of Keith’s neck.

                “Happy anniversary, Starlight.”

                He pauses, lips almost close enough to touch Keith’s, as Keith’s tug up at their ends, and he braces his hands on Lance’s thigh and closes the distance.

                The kiss is light, at a lack of energy, given that they were out or with people most of the day, given that they’re both utterly exhausted, given that they’ve got finals in the coming days and projects due and screaming to deal with until Thursday. Regardless, they make it count anyway.

                “Happy anniversary, Starboy,” Keith says when they break. “Three years with you, and not a day goes by that I’m not thanking my lucky stars that I have you.” Then he casts his gaze down and purses his lips, like he’s got more to say, as Lance gently rubs his thumb over the column of his spine. After a moment, he raises his head, meets Lance’s eyes head-on again. “I was scared to love, you know.”

                “Mm,” Lance confirms. “You were for a long time.”

                Keith nods. “I was too afraid to even fall in _like_ , and then you came along and made me fall in _annoyance_ , which was really just _like_ but repackaged so we could trick ourselves into thinking we felt nothing. But time wore on and the annoyance fell away, and there you were. Armed with some lightsabers and a pun.” He squeezes Lance’s thigh. “And then somewhere along the way, _like_ became _like-like_ and that became _oh fuck no this is not happening,_ and then...and then there was love. Is love.”

                Keith turns to face Lance fully, moves his hands from Lance’s thighs to carefully cup his cheeks.

                “You met me halfway and took my hands and never let me go. Not when I thought you would. Not when I wanted you to, because I was convinced it would happen sooner or later and I wanted the _sooner_ out of the way. You stayed. You’re staying. Forever. And I’m so grateful, because I am so deeply, undeniably in love with you, Lance McClain. You do things to me and my heart that are beyond explanation. You make me better, and make me want to be my best. For you.”

                Lance leans in again, kisses Keith again, soft and slow, and presses their foreheads together when he pulls back. His gaze is fond, as he reaches his free hand up and wraps it around Keith’s wrist, pulls one of Keith’s hands away from his face so he can twine their fingers.

                “I thought I hated you at first,” he admits. “I wanted to be better than you. I didn’t want to like you, but then all of a sudden you were just, constantly there, and then it wasn’t because you were friends with my friends, it was because you were friends with _me_. And then I realized I never hated you, I just wanted to impress you, because you were just…” Lance licks his lips for a moment, purses them, and then shakes his head. “You were above the rest of us and you didn’t seem to care, so I thought it would be some miracle feat if I got you to care. If you _noticed._ But you noticed right from the beginning.”

                “You’re pretty hard to miss,” Keith quips, and feels one of Lance’s cheeks heat up underneath his hand.

                “Could’ve fooled me,” Lance responds. “Then, at least. But now I know, and I’m glad.” Then his gaze turns the slightest bit more somber. “When we...when this whole thing started, I didn’t know we’d get this far. I didn’t even know if we’d last a week, but...here we are.” He nods to the ring on Keith’s left hand. “There’s not a single person out there I could imagine myself spending the rest of my life with, and nobody but you that I’d want to.”

                He closes his eyes, looses a breath, lets his shoulders finally relax.

                “I am so, _so_ in love with you, Keith Kogane. Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful to call you mine.”

                Keith’s lips brush over his again, a question of permission. Lance presses his to Keith’s in confirmation, as Keith lets go of his hand, lets go of his face, to wind arms around Lance’s neck. Lance’s arms slide around Keith’s back and pull him closer, closer, until it’s just the two of them, and the rest of the world forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't not do something for their anniversary


	83. t minus two days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they start packing early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clare's gone, just me here, i now run the dorm and possess our single brain cell
> 
> two exams left to go baybeeeeee

                They start packing on Tuesday night.

                Though the room will only temporarily be a disaster zone, at the present moment it still looks like a tornado has torn through, as Lance frets, flits between boxes, shoves odds and ends he knows he won’t need in the next two days into bags with an organizational system Keith can’t pin down, as he perches on top of his bed with crossed legs, quiet, out of Lance’s way.

                Lance’s hair sticks up a little more than usual, and he hasn’t fixed the way one rolled-up sleeve has unrolled back down to his wrist, nor has he done anything about the fact that there’s a rather obvious piece of lint somewhere in the chest area of his white shirt, plainly visible. He mutters to himself under his breath, about what things go where and what things he still can’t pack yet.

                It’s a little heartbreaking, if Keith is honest.

                Because Keith sees the tension in Lance’s muscles and the rigid way he moves, not the fluid motions he’s used to, not the relaxed slouch of his shoulders. The swagger’s missing from his gait as he darts over to his desk and throws open a drawer and begins sifting through it, items inside clattering loudly.

                “Lance,” Keith calls at Lance’s next pass by the bed, and his hand shoots out and wraps around Lance’s wrist, holding him in place.

                Lance pauses there, eyes flicking to Keith as he uncrosses his legs and lets them both dangle over the side of the bed. Then Keith tugs Lance over until Lance stands between his legs, until he’s close enough Keith can reach up and cup his face.

                “Hi,” Keith says, after a moment.

                “Hi,” Lance says back.

                Keith slowly swipes a thumb back and forth over Lance’s cheekbone. “You’re stressing yourself out.”

                “Am I?” Lance murmurs back, while Keith watches his muscles slowly loosen up, one by one. “I hadn’t noticed.”

                “I noticed,” Keith says. “C’mere.”

                He tilts his head up slightly, as Lance leans forward, and their lips meet. They keep it light, soft. Keith is the one who breaks it so he can pull back and better look Lance in the face.

                “Why are you stressing?”

                Lance shrugs, casting his gaze to the ground, dipping his head until Keith moves a hand to his chin and gently lifts it back up.

                “It’s just…” Lance purses his lips, as he tries to put words to the feeling, while Keith’s thumb continues to rub over his freckles, a reverent touch, as though he’s handling porcelain or frail china. “This is our space, you know? I’ve gotten used to being here, and now we’ve gotta leave, and…I dunno, there were just...memories made in here, and we’re already leaving. Part of me still feels like we just got here.”

                Keith’s mouth draws up into a wistful smile.

                “Babe.” He manages a light chuckle. “You’re a sap, number one.”

                Lance’s eyes widen slightly, and his expression morphs into one of indignation, and Keith only laughs a little louder at him.

                “But you’re my sap, and it’s one of the things I love about you.” He reaches a hand up, brushes some of Lance’s curls free from his forehead and sits up better, presses a kiss to his fiancé’s face, while Lance’s cheeks heat. “But everything’s gonna be okay.”

                Keith finally lets Lance’s face go, and instead slides his hands around Lance’s waist and pulls him closer, until their bodies are flush, and Lance drapes his arms over Keith’s shoulders.

                “Yeah, time feels like it’s moving faster, the older we get,” Keith says, when he’s certain he’s got Lance’s undivided attention. “It’s scary as fuck. And I’m sad to be leaving this place, too.” Keith nods to the room around them, to the wall of Polaroids on Keith’s—well, “Keith’s” in a sense that that’s the bed he claimed on move-in day—side of the room, pictures he has yet to take down, of their friends, of the scenery back home and around campus, what some might deem “too many” of Lance, and a handful of the two of them together. “But we’re gonna keep making memories. And we’ll have a new dorm in the fall, a new space for us to learn and make our own. Besides, everyone’s in the same boat right now.”

                Lance leans forward until his face is buried in Keith’s neck, while Keith rubs his back.

                “And don’t forget, you still have all your friends. That doesn’t change when we go back home,” Keith goes on. “Hunk and Shay will still be there, and so will the rest of the crew.”

                “And what about you?” Lance mumbles.

                “I thought that went without saying,” Keith responds. “You’ve always got me, no matter what. It’s you and me.”

                “Us against the world.”

                “Damn right.” Keith pauses another moment, and then tightens his grip on Lance slightly. “Part of me feels like you just set me up so you could say that.”

                Lance shrugs lightly with a sniffle. “Maybe the reassurance is nice.”

                Keith looses another breath, with a trace of laughter underneath it. “Always, Lance. The years’ll go by, we’re gonna change dorms again and again, we’re gonna move out and go into the world with absolutely no guidance, and I’m still gonna be at your side. I promise.”

                And then for a moment, Keith is taken back a little under two years ago, to Lance making those sorts of proclamations to him—younger him, closed-off him, scared to death of someone else leaving his life for good. It’s a weird sort of turn of events, for someone—for someone to love him so much they’re afraid _he’ll_ be the one to walk out or just up and disappear.

                Like he’d ever.

                “I think that’s enough packing for tonight,” Keith finally says, raising his head, though he doesn’t let go of Lance. “Let’s clean up and then hit the shower, alright?”

                Lance finally draws back so Keith can cup his face again, can push a piece of hair behind his ear.

                “Let me take care of you tonight,” he says, more quietly this time. “Knock knock, let me in.”

                There—that finally draws a smile out of Lance, full and toothy, as Lance closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Keith’s.

                “Okay.”

                “Okay?”

                “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm  
> them  
> they're in love  
> i've been having a klance breakdown for like four days now which is why soopits doesn't update quickly--because their pining is fucking killing me
> 
> but also read soopits
> 
> if you want a completed klance trilogy that the show totally ripped off and butchered everything from, read deceit so natural!


	84. fin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was prettier in my head when i was mentally writing it during my exam

                The room is bare, and leaves Lance feeling hollow.

                The last time the room was this bare, he was full to bursting with excitement, shaking with all of the possibilities. But now—now that’s all gone out of him, left a different sort of shaking behind as Shiro and Emely depart behind him and Keith, to give them a minute alone in their dorm, with all of their bags gone, taken down to the cars, and nothing left but themselves.

                “Wow,” Lance breathes out, and lets his shoulders deflate when Keith’s light touch ghosts across the small of his back. “Can’t believe it. We’ve already gone through a year.”

                “Yeah,” Keith says quietly, and when Lance glances at him, his eyes are sweeping over the empty room. “Really flew by, didn’t it?”

                His hand lowers back to his side, and his pinkie brushes up against Lance’s. Lance takes his hand, twines their fingers as he inhales deeply, wards off a small lump building in the back of his throat.

                “Part of me never thought I’d get this far,” he admits, voice choked.

                “I knew you would,” Keith says almost automatically, eyes stuck on the window across the room as he squeezes Lance’s hand. “When it comes down to the things you’re passionate about, you’re pretty determined. And _stubborn_.”

                “No, no— _you’re_ the stubborn one.”

                “Yeah, yeah, okay, believe what you want—”

                “It’s the truth!”

                “Sure it is.”

                Keith chuckles to himself, while Lance rolls his eyes and squeezes his hand back, as they linger a few moments more in the dorm.

                He finds it hard to believe that he walked in here eight and a half months ago with a thousand jittering emotions exploding out of him, his whole future sprawling in dozens of directions, wide paths for him to take. The paths are still there now, but fewer in number and a bit more twisted, yet somehow a little bit clearer, too.

                “We survived,” Keith finally says, finally turns to face Lance fully, cup his cheek with his free hand. “And I am so, _so_ proud of you.”

                Tears well up in Lance’s eyes, heart swelling as he blinks them away and looks upon his fiancé, and remembers the chaotic summer before college, remembers every breakdown, every single worry—and looks upon a smile now, looks upon confidence.

                “I’m proud of you, too. I’m proud of _us_ ,” he responds, and places his hand over Keith’s.

                Keith smiles warmly at him, and then cuts his eyes to the door.

                “I think we should get going,” he says. “C’mon, Starboy.”

                He tilts his head up, and meets Lance halfway as Lance presses their mouths together, firm, steady, but soft at the same time. When they break, Keith pulls them out the door, and they stand in the hall for a moment and watch it close.

                Then they turn their backs and walk. Forward.

                Into their futures, next to their futures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow what a lackluster ending
> 
> anyway i'm not giving this the same fanfare as SU/AMNM bc listen...nothing will ever live up to those
> 
> ever
> 
> anyway stan STEALING OUR OWN PLACE IN THE SUN and DECEIT SO NATURAL
> 
> and if you've been here this long, thank you so much for sticking around <3


End file.
